


A Case of True Identity

by Elizabeth_Alva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth_Alva/pseuds/Elizabeth_Alva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since John Watson became a part of the world of Sherlock Holmes, he's become wary of anyone hanging around him or Baker Street. But when a person from his past makes a reappearance in his life, John can't seem to get enough of her company. What happens when twisted web of interpersonal connections, threatens to invade the lives of the inhabitants of 221B Baker Street?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on FanFiction.Net a few years ago. I have moved on and updated my methods.

*At an undisclosed location, somewhere in Britain*

“I see you have raised Sherlock’s surveillance status.”  The woman behind the very large and rather extravagant desk observed, holding the required paperwork lightly in her hand.  “Grade three Mycroft?  Is that really necessary?”

“Sherlock’s current living situation deems it necessary, yes.”  Mycroft Holmes replied in his usual almost bored tone.  Whilst he wasn’t overly comfortable being on the ‘wrong’ side of the desk, he felt at ease knowing that this conversation was off the record and had no chance of being overheard.

“I see.” The woman responded, shuffling the papers before she placed them down in front of her.  Folding her neatly manicured hands on top of them, she fixed her gaze upon the younger man sat opposite her from above her half moon reading glasses.  “And what exactly is this current living situation?”

“It’s all there in the report.”

“That may be so. But I want to hear it from you, I believe that the report is lacking in your own personal assessment.  Sometimes it is a disadvantage to remain so removed from the subject at hand.”

Mycroft allowed himself to flash a calculated smirk.  It hid the retort that he had wanted to respond with.  Saying such a thing would only hinder his efforts.  “Very well.  I believe that Sherlock’s new...friend, could either be the making or the breaking of him.  With Dr Watson by his side, Sherlock may be tempted to take less risks with his own life, and by association less risks with the security of our nation.  However, judging by his most recent activities, there is a high chance that having a ‘side-kick’, for lack of a better term, that Sherlock will only be tempted to go the extra mile to prove just how clever he is.”

“Yes, that would seem to be the more likely outcome.”  Picking up the papers again, her eyes scanned the text once more.  “You attempted to convert Dr Watson to a ‘man on the inside’ to provide you on information on his activities?”

 “Yes.”

“And?”

“He refused.”

“Why?”

“That, I am unsure of.”  Mycroft frowned as he said that.  Despite whatever the Holmes brothers protested about being similar, they both detested having to admit a lack of knowledge on a situation.  “However, given Dr Watson’s background I’m unsurprised.  Although I do think he became too loyal far too quickly.”

The only response to that was a mildly quiet hum of acknowledgement, as some more papers were shifted about.

A few minutes passed, neither party saying a word.

“Fine, I agree with your suggestions Mycroft.  How do you wish to proceed?”

Mycroft inclined his head, hiding a smirk of success behind his hand.  “I stand by my earlier methodology.  I would like someone on the inside.  Someone who knows what to look for, someone who knows how to hide themselves in plain sight, someone who will be able to get close enough to Sherlock, without being too conspicuous when they ask questions.  But naturally when it comes to Sherlock, not just anyone will do.  This person will have to have an alibi to be so close to 221b Baker Street and its residents.  They will have to take on other roles to avoid suspicion, take on a domestic approach as it were.”

It was the woman’s turn to smirk.  “It sounds like you already have someone in mind for this task.”

“I do.”

“And just which of my operatives would you like to send into the path of Sherlock?”

“You know whom I’m referring to.”  Mycroft teased lightly.

“Humour me.”

“Why Mummy, I do believe it’s time to send in the Nanny.”

* * *

 

*Flat 221b Baker Street, London*

 _‘How the_ hell _did he manage this?’_   John Watson, the long suffering roommate of Sherlock Holmes, asked himself as he stared despairingly at the large green tinged stain that marred the lino of the kitchenette.  John had been scrubbing adamantly at that spot for fifteen minutes, and had yet to make any real progress in removing it.  John tried his best at keeping the flat clean, but when you share a living space with the world’s only consulting detective, trying your best is almost never enough.

“That’s it, I give up!” John announced to the empty flat as he rose to his feet and peeled off the pink marigolds he had donned to protect himself from whatever the hell Sherlock had spilled on the floor, and had naturally neglected to clean up.  He then stalked out of the kitchen and flopped down in his favourite armchair, pressing his hands to his face and sighing deeply.  Casting a surveying eye around the living room, John honestly didn’t know why he bothered.  Living with Sherlock was like living with a sulky, incredibly tall toddler, who often displayed the surly attitude of a teenager.  There was something cluttering every single surface in the shared living space, and almost all of it belonged to Sherlock. 

“John?” the quiet and questioning voice of Mrs Hudson called up the narrow flight of stairs.  “John, are you home?”

“Yes Mrs Hudson?”  John called back, hoping that she didn’t what him to come down; he really couldn’t be bothered right now.  But then he should be so lucky.

“John dear, would you mind popping down for a bit?”  Mrs Hudson called back.

Sighing again, John pushed himself up and out of the chair and made his way down the creaking stairs, taking special care to hold onto the rail.  Sherlock wasn’t above leaving things on the stairs; John had learned that the hard way.

As he descended, he could hear Mrs Hudson chatting away to someone, but John was at a loss as to who it could be. 

“Well, the boys upstairs are lovely.  You’ll probably bump into them from time to time, but you’ll have to be careful around Sherlock mind; he can be a bit… well you know…?  Ah, John! There you are.”  Mrs Hudson announced as he appeared in the doorway to her own small kitchen.

Sat across the table from Mrs Hudson was a woman, one John had never seen before.

“Hi.” John greeted, looking wary.  Ever since his encounter with Sherlock’s elder brother, he had become rather suspicious of new people who turned up around 221B Baker Street.

“John this is Angela Murphy, she’s been hired by my nephew to come around twice a week to help me out a bit, you know because of my hip.”  Mrs Hudson explained.

“Oh,” John said with surprise.  He hadn’t realised that Mrs Hudson’s hip was all that bad.  She commented on it from time to time, but generally she didn’t say that much about it.  John then noticed the two women were staring at him lingering in the doorway.  Stepping into the kitchen fully, John presented his hand to Angela.  “Sorry, John Watson.”

“Hi, sorry are you the one that’s the doctor?”  Angela asked, blushing slightly.

“Err, yes.” John confirmed, sending Mrs Hudson a glance.  He wondered just how much Mrs Hudson had told this woman about him and Sherlock.  It was easy to forget, but John knew just how much he and his landlady had to be careful when it came to talking about Sherlock, especially with people whom they had just met.  “Mrs Hudson, did Sherlock tell you where he was going today?”

“No dear, he doesn’t tell me anything unless he wants something, he’ll probably be at the morgue again.”  Mrs Hudson stated as she stood and pottered about the kitchen, John watched Angela pale at the casual mention of Sherlock being at a morgue.  “I could have sworn I saw another cup around here somewhere.  John dear, sit down and join us.”

“No it’s alright Mrs Hudson; I was just on my way out actually.”  John insisted.  He really didn’t feel like entertaining right now, so the lie was necessary.

“Oh, well then, on your way back would you mind picking me up a pint of milk?” Mrs Hudson asked, looking slightly downcast about his refusal to join them.

John smiled softly.  “Sure, no problem.  Full fat of semi-skimmed?”

***

John felt guilty as he wandered through the aisles of the nearby Tesco.  He hated himself for the way he had just left Mrs Hudson, but a far larger part of him was thankful to get out of the flat.  Being less than employed at the moment, any chance to get out was a welcome one.  Coming across the cleaning supplies aisle, John sighed mournfully, and resigned himself to try and find a stronger solvent to try and lift that damn stain.  As his eyes scanned the rows and rows of bottles, and he frowned at the sheer number of them.  Sighing once more, he reached out and pulled down a brand he’d never heard of before.  As he was reading just what wonders it claimed to be capable of, John heard someone call out his name.

“John?  Captain John Watson?”


	2. Chapter Two

John started at the sound of his name being called.  It had been sometime since he had been referred to as ‘Captain’, and for it to happen in a Tesco of all places was surprising to say the least.  Turning, John was met by a sight he had least expected.  Standing before him, in all her 5’’3’ glory was Eleanor Harrington, and John couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Ellie?”

Instead of answering, she just smiled like she always had, walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.  “It’s been far too long John, where have you been hiding?”

Pulling back from the impromptu hug in the middle of a supermarket, John held her at an arm’s length and looked her up and down.  In many ways she hadn’t changed all that much.  Her hair was a bit longer perhaps, she still wore her makeup on the light side, she still dressed the same; smart casual.  But there was something about her that was very different, only John couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Never mind me.”  He insisted.  “Look at you!  What are you doing in London?”

Ellie laughed.  “I live here now, moved down about four months ago.”

“But what about the flat you had near the barracks?  The one you got to be close to Nick when he was home?”  John pressed on, still finding it hard to believe what he was seeing.

“I gave it up.”  Ellie answered with a grin and a small shrug.  “Nick’s left the army now, he’s settling down with Amelia in Norwich.  They got engaged two weeks ago and are planning on setting up a practice together.  So there seemed little to no point in keeping the flat, plus there’s the added bonus of not having to deal with Hawk T2’s taking off for early morning test flights.”

“I suppose.  My God, it’s so nice to see a friendly face.  I haven’t really kept in touch with anyone.”  John admitted, looking slightly bashful at missing out on something like one of his closest older friends getting engaged.

“It happens.” She shrugged.  “Listen, so sorry but I’ve got to dash, got an appointment in half an hour.  Give me your number and I’ll give you a ring sometime, we can meet up for coffee and catch up some more.”

John’s face broke out into one of the most sincere smiles he’d produced for a long time, as he handed over his phone.

“Oh yea, I’m so sorry to hear about Harry and Clara.”  Ellie remarked as she typed in her phone number, and used his to call her own mobile. “I hope they’re both managing okay.”

“Wouldn’t know.  Clara has stopped getting in touch with me since they split up, and...”

“And you and Harry don’t get on, I know.”  Ellie finished his sentence; it was one she had heard many times before.  Glancing down at her watch, Ellie’s eyes widened.  “Again, must go, I only popped in for some milk and washing up liquid.  I’ll call you later.”

John watched her walk away laughing, as she tripped over her feet as she rounded the corner.  Her mention of milk reminded him that he had to get some for Mrs Hudson.

* * *

 

Later that evening, John was sat behind his laptop trying to type up his and Sherlock’s exploits.  He was still unsure about the fact he was writing a blog about Sherlock, and about how his flatmate would react when he found out just how much detail John was going into.  But then again, his therapist had told him to write about everything that happened in his life.

Sherlock was sat in his armchair, and seemed to be reading, but John wasn’t completely sure.  He never was when it came to Sherlock, but then again they had only lived together for less than a month.  So John was still trying to figure out the mysterious man.

“Stop it.”  Sherlock commanded.

John was brought out of his reverie at the snap in Sherlock’s voice.  “What?”

“You’re bouncing your knee; you’ve been doing that for over an hour.  It’s annoying.”  Sherlock commented without removing his nose from between the pages of his book.

“How...?” John gasped, but before he could finish his sentence, Sherlock pointed over to the flat screen in the corner of the room.  In it John’s reflection showed as clear as day.  “Oh, sorry.”

“So, who is she?” Sherlock asked his tone dull and uninterested as he snapped the book shut.  “I’m bored, indulge me.”

“Who?”

“The woman from whom you are expecting a phone call, or a text, either one would do.”

“How could you possibly know about me expecting a phone call from a woman?”  John asked knowing full well what he was letting himself in for.

“Since you sat down at that desk, you have glanced down at your phone, on average seven times a minute.  Now, in other people that could mean you’re expecting any important call, but given, by the fact that you’re nervous, signified by the agitated bouncing of your leg says otherwise.  Yes, you’ve been looking for work recently, meaning that you could be waiting on a call from a prospective place of work.  Don’t look surprised John, I do listen, sometimes.  But the time of day would suggest personal call, not professional.  Also, the rather long piece of hair that has attached itself to your jumper tells me that you bumped into an old acquaintance, perhaps an old colleague, but given that she would have to have been in a very close proximity to you for her hair to attach itself to your clothing tells me that you hugged her, or she hugged you.  Either way, for you to allow that, you had to have been close at some point.  For whatever reason, most likely the desire to ‘catch up’, you exchanged phone numbers, and she said she’d call you.  But you won’t call her, perhaps you like her and don’t want to sound over eager, jeopardising the relationship you have with this woman currently.”  Sherlock reeled off, allowing his eyes to move over John’s form as he did.

John, as ever, was impressed.  It was hard not to be, but for once he wanted to see how far he could push Sherlock’s deducing.  “Why are you assuming the hair belongs to a woman?”

“Mainly the length, and the fact that it is dyed a darker shade than the hair root.”  Sherlock scoffed as though it was obvious.

“You do know that it’s not unheard of for men, in this day and age, to have long hair and use various hair products, including dye.”  John pressed even more.

“Of course I’m aware of that.”  Sherlock snapped.  “As I said, I do pay attention.  However, given that you let this person close enough to you that they embraced you, and you them; there’s another hair on your sleeve, tells me that you’ve known them for some time.  It also tells me that this person is shorter that you by a considerable amount, your arm most likely rested across the back of her shoulders, thus picking up the hair.  Given that you’re not exactly a tall man, this further shows that your companion is probably a woman.  Am I wrong?”

John rolled his eyes as his flatmate.  “No of course you’re not.”  Then adding under his breath, “You never are.”

“I heard that.”  Sherlock commented as his rose to his feet and proceeded to pace the length of the living room.  “You didn’t answer my question, who is she?”

“She’s an old friend alright?”  John relented.  “Her brother and I were in the same unit.”

That seemed to pacify Sherlock, although John had his doubts.  Silence once again consumed the flat.  That silence however, was broken by the distinct chime of John’s phone, signalling that he had gotten a text.

* * *

 

Eleanor Harrington breathed a sigh of relief as the elderly woman stood and vacated her seat on the underground.  She hated using the underground at this time of day, especially when she had to change at Oxford Circus from the Central line to Bakerloo.  It was always so busy, with Londoners and tourists alike; but it was the only point where the two lines crossed.  Collapsing into her long awaited seat, she almost let out an audible moan as her feet finally stopped complaining, she had been on her feet for most of the day, and it hadn’t helped that she had had to stand all the way from Stratford in the sweltering heat, not helped by the sheer number of people that were around her.

Now that she had room to move, Ellie took out her phone and glancing down at the time, gaped when she realised just how late it was.  She couldn’t believe that it was nearly half past seven.  She was going to be in so much trouble when she got home.  Gladstone had been on his own since she had run out to grab a few things at about lunchtime, she was normally home by six at the very latest.  So someone wouldn’t be a happy boy about getting his tea later than normal.  Thinking about Gladstone, Ellie couldn’t help but think about the man who had given him to her; John Watson.  It was then that Ellie remembered that she had promised to call him, but work had prevented her from doing so up until now.

Baring in mind the time, Ellie proceeded to type out a text message to her old friend; she had a rule about not calling other people after half past six in the evening unless it was an absolute emergency.  She hated receiving phone calls at night, so she didn’t believe she should inflict one of her pet peeves upon other people, it was just a courtesy.

_Hi John.  Sorry about not getting the chance to call, got very busy at work. I’m free for the next few days, so if you want to meet up for that coffee, just send me a text_ _J_ _xx_

After hitting the send button, Ellie sat back and relaxed for a few precious moments, she would have to get off in two stops time.


	3. Chapter Three

Ellie was nervous.  She was currently on her way to meet up with John Watson, a man whom she had at one point considered as second brother.  But that was before his last deployment to Afghanistan.  Since then she hadn’t heard from him.  She knew that he had been honourably discharged from service after he had been shot, Nick had told her that much.  But when she had tried to get a hold of him when he had gotten home, she had been met with silence.  So it was a real surprise for her to run into him in a supermarket, in the heart of Marylebone.

She had gotten a reply to her text last night almost immediately.  She had smiled at that, she could almost picture John, with the phone by his side, waiting for her to call.  He had always been like that, anxious for the follow through on a promise.  In his response, John had asked her if they could meet up the following day for lunch, so long as it wasn’t too much trouble.  He had also mentioned he knew a great little Chinese restaurant.  She knew why he had chosen Chinese; it was the only form of cuisine that she couldn’t say no to.

So that was where she was on her way to now, the Phoenix Palace on Glentworth Street.  It was only a 10-15 minute walk from her flat, and Ellie relished the thought of being able to walk somewhere for a change, and not have to venture underground to reach her destination.  Almost everything to do with her job required her to use the public transport systems, and she refused to get a car, knowing full well that there was hardly any point in running one in London.  Turning the corner of Melcombe Street, Ellie could see the restaurant up ahead, and the familiar figure of John Watson stood outside it.

As she drew closer to him, she threw up her hand in a wave and called out, “John!”

That immediately caught his attention, and he turned and smiled as she came to a halt in front of him.  Ellie then became oddly serious, her face becoming blank and clicking her heals together she raised her right hand in a mock salute and announced, “Eleanor Harrington, reporting for Lunch date as invited, Capitan.”

John’s response was to burst out laughing.  This had been a familiar gag that Ellie had always insisted on performing whenever they would meet up in public, but only when he was out of uniform, she believed it looked too real when he was ‘dressed for the part’.  Regardless people would always stare when she did it, much like they were doing now.

“My god, you haven’t changed all that much have you?” John asked still laughing.

“Of course not.” Eleanor scoffed, before winking and adding, “Why would I change who I am, when I’m this awesome?”

“Always so modest Ellie.”  John quipped, pulling her into a one armed hug, and gesturing towards the ostentatious doors of the restaurant, asked, “Shall we?”

It didn’t take long for them to be seated in the very Chinese restaurant, John had made a reservation.  But when the maitre d' had asked for the name, John had said ‘Holmes’ instead of ‘Watson’.  Eleanor didn’t say anything at the time, and merely raised an eyebrow endeavouring to ask about it later.  After they had ordered, Ellie turned to her lunch partner, and long-time friend.  “So, what’s new with you then?”

“Not much really.  You probably know most of it already.” John shrugged, “I got shot and sent home, and now live on an army pension.  But what about you?  Been involved in any interesting cases recently?”

“Now John, even if I had, you know I wouldn’t be able to tell you.  Either way, I’m not a Barrister anymore.”  Ellie knew what was coming after that little revelation, and she braced herself for it.

“What?”

“I’m not a Barrister anymore.”  She tried to sound nonchalant about it.  “And keep your voice down, or people will start to stare.”

“Sorry, but how can you not be a Barrister anymore Ellie, that’s ridiculous.” John asked sounding scandalised.

“It’s simple, I didn’t like where things were heading.  So I quit.”

John stared at her, his jaw slack.  He was attempting to read her, just like he had seen Sherlock do to so many other people in the past few weeks, but he wasn’t getting anywhere fast.  “Ellie, something had to have happened.  When we last spoke, you were so happy at work.  What happened?”

Ellie looked down, struggling to meet the gaze of one of her closest friends.  “I couldn’t do it anymore John.  Sure I was up and coming, there was no doubt about that.  But I was asked to represent a child molester John, one who clearly did it and showed no remorse about what she had done.  Even though I was representing her, I was almost certain that she’d go away for it, but there was something odd about the case.  It was kept out of the press, and everything to do with it was very hush hush, there wasn’t even a jury.  In the end she didn’t even get a custodial sentence.  She got off scot-free.”

John finally managed to meet the eyes of his friend.  He saw the pain and anger deep within her eyes, and his heart broke for her.  He knew more than anyone that the one thing Ellie wanted in life, above all other things, was to one day be a mum.

“After the case was over, I did some digging.  Turns out that someone paid off the Judge to rule in my ‘client’s’ favour.  I don’t know who it was; I wouldn’t even know how to start looking into it to be honest.  But I couldn’t work for a corrupt system like that John, I just couldn’t.”  Ellie continued, her chest tightening at the thought of the goings on of the previous year.  “So I quit.  Soon after Nick came back from the war, he packed up and moved to live with Amelia; I stayed with them for a spell.  But I couldn’t disrupt the domestic bliss that settled over the pair of them.  Then four months ago I moved down here, to London.  But it’s all in the past now, nothing I can do about it.”

John cleared his throat as he brushed a hand over the back of his head, feeling somewhat uncomfortable about Eleanor’s revelation.  Regardless of his awkward feelings, he pushed on.  “So... where abouts are you living then?  I noticed you didn’t drive or get a cab, so somewhere nearby?”

“Just round the corner really, on Bell Street.”

John’s eyebrows flew up in surprise.  “Really?  So close, I can’t believe I haven’t bumped into you before now.”

“What’d’you mean?”  Ellie asked, frowning.

“I’ve been living on Baker Street for the past few weeks.”

It was Ellie’s turn to be surprised.  “If you don’t mind me asking, but how in the hell can you afford that on an Army Pension?  I’ve seen Nick’s bank balance; I know you can’t be getting that much.  Have you turned GP like my brother?”

John laughed, glad that the passing awkward moment had truly passed, shown by Ellie’s slightly mocking question.  “I could ask the same.  Bell Street?  But, no I haven’t found a job yet, I’m looking to go GP though, if I can find an opening at a practice.  And the only reason I can afford Baker Street is because my flatmate has our Landlady wrapped around his little finger, he said it was because she owed him a favour, but I think she’s just really fond of him.  Can’t say why though, he can be a bit of a prick sometimes.”

“You have a flatmate?” She asked disbelievingly, sounding slightly aghast.

John was prevented from answering right away by the arrival of their food.  After thanking the waiter, the pair returned to their conversation.  At least they would have, if John’s phone didn’t chime, indicating a text.

“Speaking of the devil, that’ll be Sherlock.” John muttered, fishing in his pocket for his phone.  “Yep, it’s him.  Do you mind if I answer him back, if I don’t he’ll only persist, and possibly turn up here demanding that I go with him?”

Ellie looked bemused.  “No please, answer away.”

She watched John type out a message, the irritation at being interrupted clear in his face.

“So... his name is Sherlock?”  Ellie asked, sounding out the name like she was trying it on for size.  “What happened there?  All the more ‘normal’ names gone?”

John couldn’t suppress the snort of laughter that erupted from his nasal cavity.  “I wish.  His older brother is called ‘Mycroft’.  To say the least, the Holmes brothers are a bit of a piece of work.”

“Holmes?  As in the name you stated to the maitre d' when we got here?”

John looked bashful, as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck again.  “Err, yea well.  I’ve learnt recently that the name ‘Holmes’ tends of open doors around here.  People tend to ask less questions when that name comes up.  Plus I asked Sherlock to book the table; he has an odd rapport with the owner here.  Something about getting his nephew out of trouble with the police.  I tend to stop listening after a while.  Anyway, enough about my insane flatmate.  If you’re not a barrister anymore, how are you affording Bell Street?”

“I work for myself now.”

“Doing what?”  John asked, not being satisfied by her initial answer.

“Promise not to laugh?”

John nodded.

“I operate a cleaning and housekeeping service for single ‘city boys’.” Ellie confessed, watching John for any sign of amusement at her expense.  “I clean their homes, do their food shopping and clothes shopping, when needed.  You know just the house based stuff; I even walk their dogs, if they have them that is.”

John wasn’t sure of what to say, but then something occurred to him.  “So basically, you do everything that their housewives would do, apart from the more intimate elements of a marriage?”

Ellie’s face lightened.  “Yea, kind of.  Though I did have a client who thought he would try and get his leg over once.  Let’s just say he didn’t walk with his usual gait for about a week.”

John was frowning again, not liking the idea of his friend being potentially harmed like that.  Eleanor saw this.

“Don’t worry John, I dropped him as a client and sent a warning round to the other cleaning agencies in the immediate area.”

That didn’t seem to pacify John, but he let it drop.  For now at least.


	4. Chapter Four

Lunch had continued without a hitch.  They chatted some more about odd little things.  Ellie spoke some more about what her brother was up to, and John revealed some more information about Sherlock, who persistently texted John throughout the rest of their time at the Phoenix Palace, at least he did until John turned his phone off.  They were now on their way to 221B, neither of them were ready to part ways just yet.  And John’s was closer, so they were going for coffee.

As he opened the door, John called out for Sherlock and Mrs Hudson.  He was met with precious silence, and almost sighed with relief.  Ushering Eleanor up the stairs, he was praying that Sherlock wasn’t in one of his ‘non-talkative’ moods, and was in fact actually out of the house.  On getting into the living room, John realised that Sherlock wasn’t home, or at least he wasn’t in the living room, so he moved into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Eleanor on the other hand was pre-occupied with scanning over the area that her old friend now called home.  Her eyes roved over the piles of books and old newspapers, the miss matched furniture and ‘interesting’ collection of ornaments that decorated the walls and mantle.

“John?”  She called out, after her eyes landed on a particular item.  “Why is there a skull on your mantle piece?  And please tell me it’s not real.”

John popped back out of the small kitchen, and met her interested and slightly hopeful gaze.  “Oh, that.  It’s Sherlock’s, and I haven’t had the heart to ask.  I find that it’s sometimes better to not know.”

John then headed back into the kitchen to finish off making the coffee; Ellie followed him and leant against the table, taking care not to disrupt anything on it.

“Do you still take it with sugar?”

“Yea, d’you want me to fetch the milk?”  She asked, trying to be helpful.

“Probably not the best idea.  If you think Rodger is bad, you should see what he keeps in the fridge.”  John joked as he crossed the small space, stepping over Sherlock’s latest spill on his way.

“Rodger?”

“It’s what I call the Skull; Yorick is just too mainstream when it comes to naming skulls.  So yea Rodger; as in the Jolly Rodger.”  His tone remained joking, but Ellie knew he was being partially serious.  “Oh, and to answer your earlier question.  When I’m not here, Sherlock talks to it.  He likes to think aloud sometimes, and he prefers to have someone to talk to.”

“Right, okay then.”  Ellie really didn’t know what to do with that bit of information.  So she choose to move on, and motioning towards the spill that John had avoided stepping into twice, said,  “You know you really should clean that up, it might stain.”

Glancing back at the putrid yellow puddle, John just shrugged.  “Probably, I’ve stopped trying.  You see that green one over there?  Spent three hours trying to lift that, nothing works.”

 Ellie looked sceptical.  “What have you tried?”

“The better question is, ‘what haven’t I tried?’  I swear, we have every brand of general purpose cleaner that the local shops supply.  That’s what I was looking for when I bumped into you.”  John ranted, nearly knocking over a rack of test tubes in the process.

Ellie paused for a second, gazing at the green stain.  “You mind if I have a go?”

“Have a go at what?”

“Have a go at lifting that stain.”

John just looked at her, sceptically.  “You can try, but I doubt you’ll get far.”

Ellie’s face spread slowly into a grin.  “Brilliant, can you pass me some salt, some white vinegar and a lemon?”

* * *

 

Half an hour later, John and Eleanor were sitting quietly finishing off their coffee in the eclectically decorated living room of 221B Baker Street.  In the back of his mind, John was still sceptical about the little experiment Ellie was conducting on the stain in the kitchen.  All she had done was create a fairly thick paste of salt and vinegar, spread it on the floor using half of the lemon as a sort of sponge, covered it with cling film and left it.  Since then, John had been glancing back at the patch every few minutes.

“Look at it all you want Johnny Boy, it won’t make anything happen any quicker.”  Ellie quipped, gazing at him from over the top of her mug.

At that moment a loud bang reverberated around the whole house, followed soon by light swift footsteps coming up the wooden stairs.

 _‘Taking two at a time by the sounds of it.’_   Ellie thought as her eyes moved over to the door in the corner of the room.  Her eyes widened in surprise as a tall, dark haired man burst into the room, making a bee line for the table behind her.  He didn’t even glance in her and John’s direction.  Taking a rather obvious shot in the dark, Ellie reckoned this was the flatmate that she had heard so much about over the course of the afternoon.  Her attention was drawn over to John as he cleared his throat, clearly looking for Sherlock to start paying attention to the other people in the room.

Sherlock’s head snapped around at the sound.  He didn’t display any surprise at there being someone in his chair, but his eyes were calculating.

“Sherlock, we have company.”  John stated the obvious.

“I can see that John.”  Sherlock remarked turning back to the laptop.

“Well, aren’t you going to say hello?”

Ellie tried to suppress a smile at the way that John was speaking to his flatmate.  John sounded more like a parent speaking to his obnoxious child than a flatmate at that moment.

Sherlock turned again, looking directly into Ellie’s eyes, a mocking smile plastered on his face.  “Hello.” And then looking over towards John, the smile having vanished, asked; “There.  Happy?”

John just rolled his eyes and proceeded to apologise to Eleanor for Sherlock’s behaviour.

“It’s fine John, there’s no need to apologise.”  Ellie insisted.  She then glanced down at her watch, and stood up.  “I’ll just go and check on that stain.”

As Eleanor walked away, John followed her with his eyes, shifting them over to Sherlock once she was out of sight.  Sherlock had turned back around, and was perched on the edge of the desk, his phone in his hands.  But his attention wasn’t focused on his phone; it was solely fixed upon the younger woman on her hands and knees in their kitchen.

John couldn’t hide the smirk on his face.  “Ellie’s trying to clean the stain from one of your experiments.”  He explained, breaking Sherlock’s concentration.

“Why?”

“Why?  She’s having a go Sherlock, because I’ve tried and given up.”  John explained, his irritation factor rising slightly.  “She’s trying, because everything I’ve tried hasn’t worked.  If you would just clean up after yourself, I wouldn’t have to try.”

Sherlock, by this point, had tuned out again and was back to fiddling about with his phone.  And John could have sworn he had heard Sherlock mutter the word ‘boring’ under his breath.  But before John could say anything, Ellie interrupted him.

“I told you John.”  Ellie called from the kitchen.  “Come look at this, it’s come clean away.”

Casting a warning glance over towards Sherlock, John left to go and look at the alleged wonderment that had taken place on his floor.  Peering over Ellie’s shoulder, John was impressed.  Not only had Ellie managed to get rid of the stain, the patch she had covered was now several shades lighter than the rest of the floor.  John’s eyebrows flew up towards his hairline.  “Wow, how’d you manage that?”

Ellie shrugged.  “It’s easy really.  Old wives methodology when it comes to housekeeping tends to work better that hitting the problem with every industrial brand cleaner out there, it’s cheaper too.”

“Oh please.” Sherlock muttered, this time from the door way.

“Problem Mr. Holmes?”  Eleanor asked the man who was clearly trying, and failing, to look intimidating.

“Not really.”  He answered snidely.  “But John, you really should limit yourself to an outpouring of praise for every menial task someone performs.  It’s really not becoming.”

John just rolled his eyes.  “You mean, I should limit myself, unless it’s you that’s done something?”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but the way he held himself showed that he agreed with John’s question.

“Either way Ellie, thank you for doing that.  You wanna try fixing up the rest of the flat?”  John asked jokingly, a laugh mixed into his voice.

“Sure.”  Ellie shrugged once again.  “As I said, I’ve gotten rid of one of my clients recently, and my calendar is never full, so why not?”

John’s face fell.  “I was only kidding.”  He insisted, starting to get nervous and flustered again.

“I wasn’t.”  She insisted.  “Plus weren’t you telling me that Mrs Hudson was sort of ‘out of commission’ now, because of her hip?  I’m sure you mentioned that she was getting ‘Home Help’, and wasn’t likely to look after you two anymore.”

“I don’t know, wouldn’t it be weird?” John asked, again trying to dissuade the current situation.

“Oh shush you, it’ll only be weird if you make it weird.”  Ellie playfully scolded, before turning her attention to Sherlock.  “Would that be okay with you Mr Holmes?  If I cleaned your flat for you, amongst other things?” 

She didn’t expand on that final statement, not that it mattered to Sherlock.  He had other things on his mind.  “A better question, don’t you think Miss Harrington, is what are you doing wasting your time cleaning the domiciles of other people?  Especially given to the fact that you have a mind that would be better employed elsewhere.”

“Sherlock.”  John warned again.

“No let him.  You told me he does this, so let him get it out of his system.  Go ahead the Mr Holmes, tell me my life story.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up, he so rarely got a willing participant.  Not that it ever stopped him.  “The way you hold yourself, it’s similar to John, military-esque.  But not quite, no.  You’re slightly more relaxed, but not much.  So something prestigious.  Law enforcement perhaps, but more likely lawyer, or barrister.  But you no longer work within the courts of law, most likely because you quit.  You’re not bitter enough about cleaning other people homes for a living, if you had been fired, you would be; people are like that.   You have old fashioned values; you seem to relish the idea of taking over the role that Mrs Hudson plays to John and myself, suggesting a strong maternal instinct.  That’s probably due to the fact you were raised in a structured environment, perhaps within an old family where old traditions and values were celebrated.  Regardless, you work for yourself rather than going to your family for help.  But you’re not estranged from them.  So you have a need to prove yourself, perhaps you have lived in the shadow of an elder sibling.  I know you have a dog, a rather large one at that.  And that you have a taste for the finer things in life, judging by your choice of clothing, and by the fact that you receive regular manicures.”

From the looks of things Ellie looked vaguely impressed, and that only served to inflate Sherlock’s ego.  “Very good Mr Holmes.  That was... impressive to say the least.  I may have invited your assessment; however it fails to answer my question.  Would you have an issue with me cleaning the flat?”


	5. Chapter Five

It had been six days since Eleanor had last seen Sherlock Holmes.  She had been to 221B Baker Street several times since her initial visit, she would often pop in before going home for the night; but she had yet to start sorting it out properly.   It had become customary for her and John to have a late afternoon tea.  For both of them, that approximate hour of the day had become the highlight, and during that hour they were the most relaxed they had been since moving back to London, respectively. 

They had chatted extensively, on and off, about just what she was going to do.  John had insisted that whilst he couldn’t pay her right away, he would once he managed to get a job.  Ellie, on the other hand, had insisted that it didn’t matter, and that he didn’t have to give her anything, she said she was doing it as a favour.  John wouldn’t hear her on the matter, and ignored Ellie when she stated that she would not take money from him.  Regardless, it was a stalemate between the old friends.

While it had just been talk for the almost a week, today was the day the Ellie would start her full on assault on the flat.  She had arrived bright and early, expecting it to be a long and busy day.  She was thrilled that John had agreed to let her bring along Gladstone, well it was more like Mrs Hudson had agreed.  Coming to a halt outside of 221B, Ellie fished for her phone in her pocket.  John had thought that it would be better for her to text him upon her arrival, rather than ring the doorbell at such early hour.

It didn’t take long for John to answer the door.  He was taken aback at the sight that met him.  Ellie was loaded down with supplies and bags at her feet; it was shocking how she had managed to carry them all.  But before John could get a word in, Gladstone had lunged at him, ripping the lead out of Ellie’s hand.  The act was not one out of aggression, but rather deep rooted affection.

“Clearly, Gladdy remembers you John.”  Ellie giggled as John was assaulted by her beloved White German Sheppard.  Gladstone had been a gift from John, and in part Nick, to keep Eleanor company during the first time they were sent out to the Middle East.  It was strange for Ellie to think that it had been over four years since they had presented Gladstone to her.

“Yes, and he clearly hasn’t learnt that I don’t like it when he licks Ellie.”  John shuddered as Gladstone ran his tongue up the side of John’s hand.

“Well it’s preferable to him biting.”  She countered.  “And when you had buggered off to Afghanistan, I got really sick of being a chew toy, so I encouraged the licking.  Now shift, these things are heavy.”

Upon finally managing to get up to the flat.  Ellie sighed with relief at being able to put her load down.  She knew where she was going to start today, the kitchen.  The place was a bloody health hazard.  John followed her into the room, bringing Gladstone with him.

“Where’s Sherlock?”  Ellie asked casting another cursory glance around the flat, not seeing the tall brooding man anywhere.

“He’s asleep actually.”  John informed her, sounding impressed by his flatmate’s actions.

Ellie frowned.  “How is that an accomplishment?”

“Sherlock doesn’t really sleep all that much, so when he does it’s a victory against insomnia.”  John shrugged.  “So where do you want to start?”

* * *

 

Within half an hour of them starting to clean the flat, John had insisted on helping, Sherlock had emerged from his room dressed in pyjamas complaining about the noise.  Only to glower when he realised that Ellie was there, and to then become even more irritated when he saw Gladstone perched in his chair.  He had then disappeared back into his room; reappearing minutes later, fully dressed in a suit no less.  He then grabbed a book, turfed Gladstone out of his armchair, and collapsed into it himself.  Since then, Sherlock hadn’t said a word or moved, except to turn a page.

Ellie sighed in disbelief at the state of the cupboards.  She had moved over all of the equipment on the table, and had proceeded to empty all of the cupboards in the tiny kitchen.  There wasn’t very much to say the least.  Ellie cast a cursory glance over an interesting collection of tins and jars, some of which she really didn’t plan on opening; God only knew what was in them.

“Honestly John!”  She scolded.  “What on Earth do you two actually eat?”

John looked sheepish, and rightly so.  “Well, Sherlock doesn’t eat all that much.  And when he does it’s usually a take away.  That and I haven’t had the chance to do much in the realms of shopping recently.”

Ellie glanced down at her watch.  “Well, how about we finish off wiping down the cupboards, and then you could pop out, do the shopping?  And whilst you’re out, I’ll take Gladstone across to the park for an hour or so.  He needs a run.”

“Sure, that sounds fine.”  John agreed. 

He was so thankful for having someone with a bit of sense close by again.  Turning towards Sherlock, John observed him for a moment.  He was still unmoving; his book clasped in one hand, and the other was now resting gently upon Gladstone’s head.  _‘Who does he think he is?’_ John asked himself.  _‘The Lord of the bloody manor?’_

“Sherlock?... Sherlock!”

“Oh what do you want?”  He whined, letting the hand that was holding his book flop down over the arm of the chair, his wrist going limp.

“Don’t you have anything better to be doing?”  John asked, adopting the parental tone that Ellie still wasn’t used to hearing coming out of John’s mouth.  “Like checking your website or getting back to those message you received yesterday?”

“They were boring; they held nothing to interest me.”

Leaving Ellie in the kitchen, John crossed the living room and stood directly in front of Sherlock.  He’d be damned if he just let him sit around the flat all day, again.

“Really?  What about the thing with that diamond?  You never got back on about that.  Why don’t you focus your attention on that for a while?”  John questioned, but phrased it as an order, knowing that it was futile to some extent.

“Fine.” Sherlock sighed dramatically.

John looked taken aback, so much so it caused Ellie to laugh quietly at his expression.  “Err right then, we’re popping out in a bit, won’t be too long.”

* * *

 

John returned to 221B after about three quarters of an hour, only sans shopping.  He was irritated to say the least, he didn’t understand why the only tills open at Tesco had been the self-service ones, and naturally there hadn’t been an attendant in sight.  He had then been made to look like a complete idiot with a queue of people behind him.  Tentatively walking into the living room, John saw that Sherlock was still sat in his damn chair.

“You took your time.” Sherlock commented off handedly not bothering to look up from his book.

“Yea.  I didn’t get the shopping.” John responded immediately, barely managing to contain his irritation and frustration as he fidgeted on the spot.  That caused Sherlock to look up.

“What? Why?”

“Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip and pin machine.” The ironic sarcasm was literally dripping from John voice.

Sherlock’s eyebrow twitched with mild amusement merged with confusion. “You... you had a row with a machine?”

“Sort of.  It sat there and I shouted abuse at it.” He admitted, calming down slightly.  “Have you got cash?”

“Take my card.”  Sherlock offered whilst nodding over towards his wallet.

Clenching his hands once again, John moved over to the partially clean kitchen, wondering just when Ellie would be back with Gladstone.  “You could always go yourself. You know, you’ve been sitting there all morning, you’ve not even moved since Ellie and I left.  And what happened about that case you were offered?  The Jaria diamond?”

“Not interested.” Sherlock said as he closed his book with a snap. “I sent them a message.”

John was about to turn and leave when he spotted a scratch in the table, one he was almost positive hadn’t been there that morning.  Running his finger along it, he sighed, glanced over at Sherlock who refused to make eye contact.  Knowing that whatever had happened wasn’t worth getting into an argument about now.

* * *

 

“Don’t worry about me, I can manage.”  John remarked, the hint being heavy in his voice but knowing that it had fallen on deaf ears.  Walking into the kitchen, he was surprised to find Ellie balanced on top of the counter.  It looked like she was wiping down the top of the kitchen cabinets.  “Oh, you’re back then?”

“Yep, have been for about ten minutes.”  Ellie informed him as she threw her cloth into a sink-full of water.  “Just leave those bags on the table, and I’ll put the stuff away in a sec.  Did you pick up any more white vinegar?”

John looked lost for a second as he tried to remember.  “Err, sorry no.”

Ellie just smiled as she jumped down.  “No worries.  I’ll just pop down and ask Mrs Hudson if she’s got any.  I only need a little bit.  Won’t be long.”

John watched her go, and then moved through to the living room frowning as he saw Sherlock on his laptop.  “Is that my computer?”

“Of course.”

“What?”

“Mine was in the bedroom.”

“What and you couldn’t be bothered to get up?”  John sounded scandalised.  “It’s password protected!”

“In a manner of speaking.  Took me less than a minute to guess yours.  Not exactly Fort Knox.”

John just frowned even more at Sherlock’s poor attempt at sarcastic humour.  Striding over, he took back his laptop, making a mental note to change his password.  Sitting down in his chair he took up the pile of bills with a heavy sigh. 

“Need to get a job.”  He remarked more to himself than Sherlock, who responded anyway.

“Hmm, dull.”

Shifting forwards in his seat, John listened out for any indication that Ellie was coming back.  He didn’t hear anything.  “Listen, erm.  If you’d be able to lend me some... Sherlock are you listening?”

Sherlock was just sitting there, seemingly staring into space.  Which caused John to become curious, and a little nervous.  There was always good reason to become nervous when Sherlock got that look on his face.

“I need to go to the bank.”  Sherlock announced, getting to his feet and striding out the door as he pulled on his coat.  John, at a loss, just followed him.

Sherlock was out the door before John was even all the way down the stairs, as he was about to step out the front door, he heard Ellie call out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“John where are you two going?”

“Er, the bank apparently.”  He remarked, throwing a glance over to where Sherlock was trying to hail a taxi.  “I think we’ve got a case.  D’you mind?”

Ellie smiled softly, and shook her head.  “No, off you go.  I’ll finish up in the kitchen, and start on the bathroom.  Be careful mind.”

“Will do.” John confirmed as he ran out the door just as Sherlock was getting into a taxi.  Ellie just shook her head, smiling at John’s improved lease on life.  This was the happiest she’d ever seen him, even from before he went to Afghanistan.

As she was about to head upstairs again, Mrs Hudson stuck her head around the corner of her door.  “Oh, Eleanor, was that the boys going out?  Angela and I heard the door bang.”

“Yes Mrs Hudson, that was them.  John said something about them possibly having a case.”  Ellie confirmed.  Glancing up, she could see Angela, Mrs Hudson’s home helper leaning over slightly to see beyond the kitchen door of Mrs Hudson’s flat, clearly listening in on the conversation.

“Oh well, I do wish they would tell me these things sometimes.”  Mrs Hudson complained.  “I was just about to put the kettle on, fancy a cup of tea pet?”

“Err, sure Mrs Hudson.”  Ellie shrugged, thinking she could do with a break.  “Just let me go and fetch Gladstone, I don’t want to leave him alone in the flat.”


	6. Chapter Six

After a rather uneventful tea break with Mrs Hudson and Angela, Eleanor returned to John and Sherlock’s flat to resume her work.  If there was one thing that was vaguely satisfying about cleaning, is that it was mechanical; at least that was Ellie’s opinion anyway.  In her former occupation she always had to think on her feet.  And whilst that in itself was challenging enough, it soon became tiresome.  Especially when she was having to defend the scum of the Earth more often than not.  But then again, that came with the territory when you specialise in criminal law.  Yet with cleaning, she just had to do it.  No questions asked.  Unless she was with John that is, he never stopped with his questions.

It didn’t take all that long to finish up in the kitchen.  Sure Ellie had come across some... interesting artefacts.  But it wasn’t anything she couldn’t deal with.  She hoped John would be happy with what she had done.  All of the surfaces were clean now, anything that could go in a cupboard, was put away, and the fridge was thoroughly cleaned out of anything that was a funny colour.  Although Ellie had left alone anything that looked like it was one of Sherlock’s experiments.  And now she was in the process of defrosting the freezer unit.

Ellie decided she needed a break before she started her assault on the bathroom.  Flopping down on the couch, she leaned lightly against Gladstone, who was happily perched there with one of his chew toys.

“John found himself and interesting friend hasn’t he Gladdy?”  She asked the German Sheppard, whose apparent response was a grunt of sorts.

Ellie took another chance to look around the flat.  Every time she had visited, she had studied the room in great detail, a habit left over from her time as a Barrister.  And every time she studied the room, she saw something new that caught her interest.  This time, she noted that the mirror above the fire place was a new addition, that and the newest pile of papers to appear on the table that both John and Sherlock used as a desk.  Rolling her eyes at the sloppy idea of filing the pair of them had, and by the pair of them she meant Sherlock, Ellie realised that she needed to convince John to get hold of a filing cabinet, or something to that effect.  Perhaps then some of the clutter would be hidden away.  Out of sight, out of mind.

“Oh well, best be getting on with things then, ehh Gladstone?” More often than not, Ellie found herself talking to her dog. She presumed it was a by-product of living without another human being.  So forcing herself off the couch, she made her way to the bathroom.

She had yet to use the bathroom of 221B Baker Street, she hadn’t even been in the room before, so she had no idea what was waiting for her behind the door.  And a significant part of her was dreading what she might find.  She had already seen what Sherlock believed was acceptable for storage within the fridge-freezer, so God only knew what he would do in a bathroom – a room with a number of obvious waste disposal outlets.

Cautiously she pushed open the door and peered around it. Upon seeing the room, Ellie found herself to be pleasantly surprised.  It was fairly clean, sure there were towels on the floor instead of being hung up, but other than that the worst area of the room was around the edge of the bath, and it was only a little bit of pink mould.  And for a bathroom shared between two people, a little bit of pink mould wasn’t much.  Hell, it could grow within the space of two weeks.  Which is why Ellie was a firm believer that bathrooms should be cleaned at least once a week, more so if more than four people used it on a regular basis.  She smiled knowing that all she would have to do was splash a bit of general purpose on the tiles, and that would be it.  On her way out of the room, she did however scoop up the towels on the floor and threw them in the washer/dryer combo machine.  The bathroom may not have been all that bad, but she could only guess the last time the towels had been washed, and she wasn’t going to smell them to find out.

Before she could return to the task at hand, Ellie was distracted by her phone vibrating atop of the kitchen table.  It wasn’t a text, someone was calling her.  No one ever called her, especially not on her mobile.  Quirking an eyebrow, she answered it, not having recognised the number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, am I speaking to Miss Eleanor Harrington?” A male voice enquired.

“Yes.”

“Oh good, I’ve already tried your landline.  My name is Sergeant Jason Harris, from Scotland Yard.  I’m calling to enquire about your relationship with Mr Edward Van Coon.”

Ellie’s eyebrow rose slightly higher as her heart rate increased slightly.  “Why?  What’s happened?”

“Please Miss, what is your relationship with Mr Van Coon?”  The Sergeant insisted, the urgency in his voice coming through quite clearly.

“I was essentially his maid.”  Ellie explained.  “What’s happened that Scotland Yard has become involved?”

“I’m sorry to inform you that Mr Van Coon is now deceased.”  The Sergeant explained.  “Would there be any chance that you could come down to the Yard?  My superior has some questions to ask you regarding his death.”

Ellie’s heart rate had increased even more now, she couldn’t believe she was being called down to Scotland Yard of all places.  “Yes, of course.  When?”

“At your next possible convenience Miss.”  The Sergeant requested.

“I’ll come right away.”

“Very well Miss Harrington.  Would you like us to send a car for you?”

“No, I’ll find my own way.” Ellie informed him, she was planning on taking a cab.

“That’s fine Miss Harrington, just give your name at reception and you’ll be sent in the right direction.  Good bye Miss Harrington.”  And with that he hung up.

Ellie lowered the phone from her ear, still not believing what she had just been told or what she was about to do.  Shaking her head from side to side a few times, she pulled herself together and headed for the stairs, calling for Mrs Hudson as she did.

* * *

 

Before the hour was out, Ellie was walking past the infamous rotating sign of Scotland Yard.  She had left Gladstone with Mrs Hudson, who seemed glad to look after her beloved pet. And now she was here and still couldn’t get her head around the fact that someone she knew was dead.  Edward Van Coon hadn’t been old, and she didn’t know how he had died, but if Scotland Yard was involved, then the circumstances must not have been natural.  Sure, she knew people that had died due to unnatural causes.  It was hard not to when she had had such a close affiliation with Her Majesty's Armed Forces, through both her Father and Brother.  And by association, John.  She’d literally grown up on an Army Base.  So she knew soldiers who had died in the line of duty.  But this was different.  Edward Van Coon was no soldier.  What he was however, was a sex pest.  It had been him that had tried to have his way with her after his little girlfriend had refused to see him anymore.

After being directed by the woman at reception to the fourth floor, Ellie was on the lookout for the Office of Detective Inspector Dimmock.  Spotting it, she went to knock on the door; only to stop short when someone came bustling out of it, tears streaming down their face.

“Amanda?” Ellie questioned shocked by the appearance of her former employers old flame.  Although when she thought about it in retrospect, it wasn’t all that surprising that Amanda was here.

“Oh, Eleanor.  What are you doing here?” She asked, wiping the tears from her eyes with a balled up tissue.

“I got a phone call and was asked to come down.”  Ellie explained, searching for another tissue in her bag and handing it over to Amanda.  “Here, looks like you need a new one.”

“Thank you.” Amanda said tearfully.  “Oh isn’t it dreadful?  I only saw him yesterday, he was fine.  I just can’t imagine why he would do it.  I thought we were going to try and sort things out.”

Ellie just stood there and listened as the other woman, with whom she was only vaguely acquainted, babbled on with a stream of tears cascading down her face.  Over Amanda’s shoulder, Ellie could see who she guessed was Inspector Detective Dimmock, waiting patiently.  Although his patience was wearing thin.  Clearing his voice, he caught the attention of Amanda, who realised what she was doing and stepped aside apologising.

Ellie then said a quick goodbye to the other woman and stepped inside the office, Dimmock closing the door swiftly behind her, preventing Amanda from starting up again, even if she wanted to.

“Miss Harrington I presume?” He asked, offering her a hand.

Taking it, Ellie confirmed his question.

“Please take a seat.” He offered, gesturing with his hand.  “This shouldn’t take too long; I just have a few questions for you.”

“Thank you.” Ellie murmured as she sank down into the offered chair.  She was nervous, not that she had a reason to be, but this was all a little bit over whelming.

“You, until recently, worked for Mr Van Coon didn’t you Miss Harrington?”

“Eleanor, please.” Ellie requested, being called ‘Miss Harrington’ made her feel like she was a teacher.  “And yes I did.”

“What is it exactly that you did for Mr Van Coon?” Dimmock asked as he looked over some papers in front of him.

“I was his maid, he was my client on Thursdays.”  Ellie explained.  “I would clean his flat, restock his cupboards, pick up his dry cleaning, do his laundry and ironing.  Just basic domestic tasks.”

“I see, and can I ask you why you terminated your contract with Mr Van Coon?”

“I was at his flat, three weeks ago, doing my outlined job when he came home drunk, in the middle of the day, and tried to take advantage of me.  I fought him off of me, and left immediately.  I left my keys to his flat there, and the next day I sent him a letter stating that I would no longer work for him and that I would forgo payment for the previous day as I didn’t give him notice.”  Ellie paused for a breath, this was not a story she liked telling.  “I’m unwilling to work in an environment where I do not feel safe.”

The look in Dimmock’s eyes was sympathetic for a brief moment, before he cleared his throat again and looked back down at his pile of papers, making a small note in the margin.  “So you have had no contact with Mr Van Coon since that time Eleanor?”

“No.”  Ellie said, shaking her head.  “His flat is on the other side of the city to where I live, and I don’t have any other clients in that area of London.  Regardless, with the odd hours he kept, I hardly ever saw him.  That, and the fact that he was often in China, so didn’t really know him all that well.  Can I ask just what happened to him?”

Dimmock had been writing down notes as she was speaking, but looked up surprised when she asked him that question.  “We’re waiting for tests to confirm our suspicions.  But we’re treating this as a suicide.”

“I can’t believe that he would kill himself Detective Inspector.” Ellie confessed.  “I know he had a stressful job, and that suicide rates are high with traders.  And, as I said, I didn’t know him all that well.  But Eddie was good at his job, he always made the money back he lost on the trading floor, he was very boastful about that.  He had a good life; at least he did in his eyes, so I don’t understand why he would take it.”

“As I said, we’re waiting on results to confirm our suspicions.  Nothing is definite just yet.”  Dimmock reiterated with a slight smile.

* * *

 

Ellie was now on the way back to Baker Street in the fading light of day.  Detective Inspector Dimmock hadn’t kept her all that long, he had just asked her some more questions about Van Coon’s movements, most of which Ellie hadn’t been able to answer.  She had forgotten just how many times she had had to stress that she only worked for Eddie Van Coon for one day a week, and that day was always a Thursday.  So for all she knew, for the rest of the week, Eddie Van Coon could have been a cross dressing burlesque performer.  Although that was very unlikely.

Leaning her head against the window of the cab, she sighed as the cool pane of glass soothed her headache, letting her eyes drift closed for a moment.  The moment was cut short as the cab lurched to a halt.  Realising where she was, Ellie paid her fair and got out, heading straight for 221B.  She knocked on the door, and was dragged inside only moments later by a fretting Mrs Hudson.

“Oh there you are pet, I was getting worried.”  The older woman fussed.  “You know, John asked where you were when he and Sherlock came back, and I told him you’d been called into Scotland Yard, and he started to worry too.  You know all this excitement isn’t good for me, not at my age.  Now, I’ll put on a pot of tea, you head up those stairs and tell John that you’re fine.  I think he’s sweet on you, I really do.  Off you go then.”

And with that Mrs Hudson was away down the hall to her kitchen, leaving Ellie looking and feeling slightly lost.  Choosing to ignore the strange encounter, she slowly started to mount the stairs up to the boys flat, a step creaking underfoot about halfway.  When she reached the top of the stairs, John was already waiting in the doorway of the kitchen.

“I thought I heard someone at the door.”

“Yea, I just came back here for Gladstone really.” Ellie explained, looking slightly sheepish for some unknown reason.  “But Mrs Hudson sent me up here without letting me get a word in; I take it he’s with you?”

“Yea he is,” John confirmed for her, seeing her visibly relax at that. “So you want to tell me why you were called over to Scotland Yard?”

“They wanted to ask me some questions about that former client of mine; you know the one I told you about.”  Ellie told him as she wandered into the flat, shucking off her coat, and taking a seat next to Gladstone; who was once again sprawled out on the couch.  Ellie couldn’t help but notice that Sherlock was seated at the desk again, typing away furiously on his laptop.  It seemed that he hadn’t noticed her appearance, and for some reason that bothered Ellie.  Only, she didn’t know why.

John frowned as he took a seat in his chair; it was a frown of concern.  “Is everything okay?”

“Not really, well not for him anyway.”  Ellie shrugged, twisting her fingers in her cardigan’s sleeves. “He’s dead.”

“Oh God.  Ellie I’m sorry.”  John apologised, crossing to room and taking a seat next to her, wrapping his arm around her in the process.  “What happened?”

“They said suicide.”

“That’s awful.”

“But I don’t think it was.” She was thinking aloud, more that talking to John at this point.  “I didn’t know him all that well, but I don’t think Eddie Van Coon would kill himself.”

John stiffened at the name.  Naturally he recognised it.  How could he not?  John also noticed that Sherlock had stopped typing, and he turned sharply in his chair to fix his piercing eyes on Ellie.

“You knew Edward Van Coon?”


	7. Chapter Seven

“You knew Edward Van Coon?” Sherlock’s rich baritone voice demanded as he stared, unblinkingly at Ellie with narrowed eyes, whilst she sat almost cradled in John’s half embrace.

“Yes, as I said, he used to be one of my clients.” She said, shrinking back slightly into John’s side her own eyes becoming wide.

“Sherlock, not now.” John warned sensing how things were about to go.

“No this is perfect!” Sherlock exclaimed jumping up and bounding over to Ellie, only to make her shrink back in fear.  “Tell me everything of relevance about Van Coon.  Why would someone be after him?  What was he doing that would make someone threaten him?”

Ellie tried to move further away from Sherlock, but the back of the couch, and the wall for that matter, was making it impossible.

“Sherlock!” John scolded.  “I said, ‘not now’.”

“But John can’t you see?  We have a connection.  Someone who may be able to provide an insight into this man’s life, and perhaps why he died.”  Sherlock had now stepped back and was pacing the floor quickly.  He was agitated again, and John was irritated because of how Sherlock was behaving.  The man didn’t understand social boundaries.

“You seemed to manage just fine on your own.” John murmured, following Sherlock with his eyes.

“Yes, yes, but even I can only tell so much about a man by his living space.” Sherlock snapped back without looking at John.  “So unless you know of someone who has a vendetta against left handed people, shut up.”

Now that Sherlock had backed off, Ellie felt more at ease, and shifted to sit properly on the couch.  She, like John, was watching Sherlock pace, and was trying to remember if Eddie had been left handed.  She couldn’t say she had ever noticed.  But then again, she hardly ever saw him.  “Excuse me, but what could I do to help?” She asked in a small and timid voice.

John frowned at Ellie, she was only enabling Sherlock.  Regardless, Sherlock had found a new puzzle, and he wasn’t going to let it drop.  So if Ellie happened to be one of the pieces, there was nothing John could do, except to help where he could.  That, and pray no one got hurt in the process.

Sherlock came to an abrupt halt at Ellie’s question.  He hadn’t expected her to want to help.  Most outsiders weren’t as accepting of his abilities; John had been the exception, not the rule.  Turning to look at her, he was intrigued by what he saw.  He hadn’t looked at her properly yet.  When he had met her over a week ago, he had analysed her yes, but he hadn’t looked at her.

She was average height when she stood up properly, but sitting there she looked small.  Very small.  Her hair was dyed, but her roots were starting to come through underneath.  The natural colour was far more appealing that the rather dank shade of brown she had elected to use.  Her eyes were wide as she stared at him; they were an interesting pale brown, almost yellow, like an owl’s.  They were oddly captivating.  As were her lips; slightly parted with a soft curve to them.  She wore little make up, but then again she didn’t really need it.  She dressed well, but comfortably.  Overall, Sherlock presumed she was what other people called attractive.

“Scotland Yard may have told you Edward Van Coon committed suicide, he didn’t.  He was murdered, and I need to know why.”  Sherlock told her, keeping at a distance this time, he didn’t want to alarm her again.  “I know he was threatened, but I haven’t discovered why.  And the why is important, it’s the fun part.  So anything you can tell me about his habits would be beneficial, paying particular attention to any recent changes.”

Ellie’s mouth hung open for a second; she was too busy staring at the madman that was her friend’s flatmate to be able to think properly.  This was the calmest she had seen him all evening, all of a sudden, he seemed less agitated and more stoic.  She also couldn’t help the fact that she though he looked very handsome in this light, almost ethereal.

Taking her silence as a lack of a wish to speak, John stepped in.  Keeping his voice low, John spoke, “Sherlock, this really isn’t a good time to be asking these kinds of questions.  She’s just found out someone she used to work for was murdered.”

Hearing John allowed Ellie to snap out of it.  “No.  No, it’s fine John.  Eddie was on par with the scum of the Earth in my opinion, but he didn’t deserve to die.”  Her own voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it was heard in the near silence of the flat.

Sherlock simply flashed John a smug smirk before returning his attention to Ellie.  “Thank you Eleanor.  Now, tell me what you can.”

* * *

 

The next hour and a half were filled with questions being spouted from Sherlock aimed towards Ellie.  She answered where she could, after putting a large amount of stress on the fact that she had only worked for Edward Van Coon for a few months and had not seen him all that much.

At first John had tried to listen, but had then grown bored and had left to put the kettle on.  A routine he had repeated two more times.  Glancing down at his watch, John’s eyes grew wide at the time.  It was late and he had a job interview in the morning.  Oh the wonders of the internet and _jobseekersdirect_.  He groaned as he rose to his feet, catching the attention of both Ellie and Sherlock.

“Well, I’m going to bed.  It’s late and I have somewhere to be in tomorrow.  So good night.”  John announced to the room, stretching and popping his joints at the same time.

His announcement caused Ellie to check the time on her phone.  “Oh Christ! Is that the time?  Oh God, I have to be in Stratford in the morning.”

As Ellie scuttled around the flat looking for Gladstone’s lead, John turned to Sherlock with a pointed look.

“Walk her back to her flat.” John ordered quietly preparing for a fight.

“What?”  The Consulting Detective demanded sounding aghast.  “Why should I?”

“Because Ellie had spent a large portion of her day cleaning up after you, and now she’s just spent the past few hours helping you with your latest case.  So be a human being for once, and walk her home.”  John reasoned, praying that it would work, but doubting it all the same.

“She’s your friend, you do it.”  Sherlock snapped back.

“I have a job interview in the morning, I can’t.”

“Why can’t she get a taxi?”  Sherlock asked as he inched his way over to his violin.

John, seeing what Sherlock was doing, bound across the room and snatched it up, hiding it behind his back.  Sherlock’s eyes and nostrils flared in anger, no one touched his violin.

“Because taxis are expensive, and it’s only around the corner.  You can have this back when you get home, or I’ll put it with your confiscated cigarettes.”  John threatened.

“If it’s only around the corner, why can’t she go by herself?”  Sherlock hissed eyeing up John to see how hard it would be to wrestle the violin out of his hands without damaging it.

“Don’t even think about it.” John murmured referring to the way Sherlock was looking at him. “Because there are some dodgy people around here and I don’t want anything to happen to her.  Just do it Sherlock, please.”

Seeing the pleading wasn’t getting him anywhere, and by the sounds of it Ellie had found Gladstone’s lead, John tried flat out bribery.

“Do it and I’ll give you two cigarettes?”

“Make it half a pack.” Sherlock countered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Glancing over his shoulder, John saw that Ellie was putting her coat on and had Gladstone ready to go.  “Fine, half a pack.”

Sherlock just grinned in victory and moved across the room to put on his own coat.

“Right then, I guess I’ll be going then.” Ellie announced to John as she enveloped him in a goodbye hug and then in his ear whispered, “Is Sherlock going somewhere?”

“He said he’d walk you home.” John whispered back, managing to hide his smug smile of victory.

Ellie looked surprised.  “He doesn’t have to, I’ll be fine.”  She then turned to the door and saw Sherlock waiting patiently for her.  “Really Sherlock, you don’t have to walk me home.”

“Yes he does.” John said with an air of finality before Sherlock could say anything. “See you tomorrow?”

Ellie’s eyes briefly flashed between John and Sherlock, she sensed that something was wrong, and she had a funny feeling about what it was.  “Yea sure, maybe I’ll get the bathroom finished off.”

* * *

 

Ellie was vaguely uncomfortable walking next to Sherlock.  He was a rather large and intimidating presence on the empty streets.  She was convinced they must have looked strange.  The pair of them walking in tandem, a dog trotting along merrily beside her, it must have been a peculiar sight indeed.  They walked at an almost leisurely pace; one that Ellie was convinced was for her benefit.  It seemed most likely, given that she had only ever seen Sherlock rush around from A to B.  It also seemed that Sherlock embraced the saying that ‘silence is golden’, so she was taken aback when he spoke.

“Did I get anything wrong?”

“Excuse me?”  She asked, completely confused by his question.

“The other day, when you invited me to analyse you.  Did I get anything wrong?  I always get one thing wrong.” Sherlock explained.  He kept face straight ahead, but Ellie knew he was listening intently for her answer.

“I would hardly say that I invited you to do that, I just didn’t discourage you and kept quiet whilst you did it.”  Ellie quipped, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Hmm, semantics.”  Sherlock dismissed with a wave of his hand.  “Did I get anything wrong?”

“No not really.”  Ellie admitted.  “But I don’t come from an old family, my dad’s just high up in the military.  So that’s where my structured upbringing came from.  How did you know about that by the way, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The way you hold yourself.  As I said, it’s military-esque, but not quite.  Most other people would miss it...”

“But not you?” Ellie interrupted.

“No not me.  With other barristers, and lawyers for that matter, they hold themselves similar to yourself.  Only with them, it’s more forced, they’re more aware of their stance and take extra care to ensure they walk and stand properly.  With you it seems almost second nature to do so.”  Sherlock explained as though it were obvious.  “Thus the structured, and I dare say, strict childhood.”

“That’s amazing.” She marvelled, adding fuel to the fire that was Sherlock’s ego.

“You’re only one of a handful of people who’ve ever said that about me.”  Sherlock mused aloud.

“Really?”  Ellie responded sarcastically.  “Can’t imagine why people wouldn’t like it?  A perfect stranger coming up to them and handing them their life story on a platter, I don’t know why people don’t form queues around you?”

Sherlock had never been one to accept teasing light-heartedly, yet most of his schooling years were filled with less that light hearted teasing; but with Ellie is seemed different.  As to why it was different, Sherlock couldn’t pinpoint it.  Regardless he chose to tease her back, something that was very unusual behaviour on his part. “A perfect stranger?”

Ellie rolled her eyes with a small smile on her face.  “You know what I mean.”

“I regret to inform you that I don’t.” He responded, barely managing to contain the small smile on his own face.  “Now who’s focused upon semantics?”

Ellie simply burst out laughing.  It was a pleasant sound Sherlock concluded.  It wasn’t too shrill, as was the case more often than not, and it wasn’t false.

“Erm, this is my building.” She managed to say between small light laughs.  “Do you think John would be satisfied by now, or does he expect you to deliver me to my front door?”

“We didn’t discuss that.  I believe he would be satisfied if I saw you pass into the building from the street.”

“I see, so will I be seeing you tomorrow?  Or will you be off gallivanting all over London?”  She asked, hoping that she would.  He really was an interesting character, once you managed to look beyond the crass and rather abrupt nature he appeared to have developed.

“That is to yet be determined.”  Sherlock’s voice seemed to drop to a lower octave, as it seemed to whenever he thought about his work.  “Good night Eleanor.”

“Good night Sherlock.”  She turned and unlocked the door before looking over her shoulder to see Sherlock still there, watching her.  “Be sure to enjoy those cigarettes for me, I gave them up a few years ago, and still get cravings.”

And with that she was gone, leaving a slightly stunned Sherlock standing on the pavement.


	8. Chapter Eight

It was almost noon by the time Ellie managed to get over to 221B Baker Street the following day.  She had had a few errands she had wanted to perform before throwing herself whole heartedly into the task of once again tackling the grime that inhabited the home of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.  Having knocked on the door, she was soon ushered up the stairs by Mrs Hudson who kept saying something about how maybe Ellie could distract Sherlock from becoming bored, and therefore causing him to be less destructive.  But then again, Ellie couldn’t be completely sure about how serious Mrs Hudson was being.  Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Ellie glanced back down at the older woman, who simply smiled and waved her hands in a shooing motion up at her.  Shrugging the actions of her friend’s landlady off, Ellie continued to make her way over to the door of the boys’ flat.

Mrs Hudson just smiled wistfully up at the place where Ellie had just disappeared from view.  In her opinion Ellie was a Godsend.  Not only because she was helping out with the up keep of the flat upstairs, and Mrs Hudson knew that she couldn’t ask Angela to go up there; but also because of what she was doing for both John and Sherlock on a non-domestic level.  Mrs Hudson had noticed how different John seemed now that Ellie was close by; he was happier and less depressed.  He was certainly less focused on constantly wanting to wring Sherlock’s neck. 

And then there was Sherlock himself.  Mrs Hudson was perfectly aware that Sherlock had walked Ellie home last night, John had come down after they had left asking for some of Sherlock’s confiscated cigarettes and he had told her what was going on.  Naturally she had been curious about how Sherlock would react when he got home about having being bribed.  She had expected him for practically fly off the handle and come back baying for John’s blood.  So to say the least she had been surprised when he had come back to 221B quite quietly, and dare she believe it, in a better mood?  He hadn’t even slammed the door shut.  One thing was definite, and that was the fact that he had been quiet this morning.  Which was especially unusual given the fact that he was alone all morning, and Sherlock, despite what he may say, had never done too well when left alone.

Approaching the door carefully, Ellie knocked gently, and as the door was already ajar, she poked her head around it.

“John?  Sherlock?  It’s me.”  She called out in a small voice, not sure of what to expect.

What she saw didn’t surprise her in the slightest.  The flat was just as she had left it the night before for the most part, there were a few papers on the desk that were new.  But beyond that everything was the same.  Glancing around, it didn’t look like there was anyone in, and Ellie was assuming the John was still at his interview.  As to Sherlock’s location, she could only hazard a guess, Mrs Hudson must haven’t have heard him leave.

Putting her coat down on the arm of the couch, she started to move through the small flat, straightening up a few things as she went.  Her earlier guess that no one was in, was confirmed as she went about her business, the flat was silent apart from the small amount of noise she was making.

After clearing away what appeared to be the rushed remains of John’s breakfast, Ellie rolled up the sleeves of her jumper as she filled a bucket in preparation for her assault on the bathroom.  On her way to said bathroom, she couldn’t help but notice that the towels she had washed the day before were missing from the machine.  Ellie was pleasantly surprised by this, having expected to have to wash them again since she had forgotten to put them through a dry cycle, and she had seriously doubted either John or Sherlock to have had to sense to do it themselves.

Opening the door to the bathroom, Ellie was met with a face-full of steam, frowning she looked towards the bath and let out a piercing scream.  Sherlock was sat there, waist deep in water, looking quite annoyed that she had disturbed him.  She sloshed the bucket of water everywhere as she back out of the room apologising profusely, slamming the door shut behind her.

“I’m so so so sorry Sherlock; I didn’t know anyone was in.”  Ellie called through the door.  Even without the use of a mirror, she knew she was bright red.  She could feel her skin burning with the embarrassment.  She barely knew the man, and if she was fairly certain he didn’t like her all that much, Ellie was certain he hated her now.

* * *

 

It was half an hour before Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, with a towel wrapped around his waist, damp curls sticking to his forehead and flicking out slightly at the back of his neck.  Ellie had scuttled away and was hiding in the living room; she had been focusing upon the task of organising Sherlock’s papers, whilst asking any deity that would listen, to open up the ground so she could fall through it and disappear.

Hearing Sherlock clear his throat, Ellie flushed again and turned slowly, some papers still in hand.  Papers which she promptly dropped when she saw Sherlock’s lack of suitable attire.

“What are you doing?”  He demanded, droplet of water trickling down his pale chest.

Ellie fumbled over her words before she managed to answer, “I’m organising?”  She offered as a question than a statement.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her again.  It was clear that she had yet to recover from her earlier entrance to the bathroom.  “The bathroom is now free to do with as you please.”  And with that he turned on his heels and left her standing there gaping.

Ellie was still slightly stunned when Sherlock re-entered the room, this time fully dressed, and took a seat at the desk.  Moving off to the bathroom, fresh bucket of water in hand, Ellie avoided making eye contact with the man who seemed determined to make her fumble again.

* * *

 

“I said could you pass me a pen?”  Sherlock demanded as John entered the flat.

Looking around, expecting to see Ellie, John realised she wasn’t there, and Sherlock was sat alone staring at the new images that adorned the wall above the fire place.  “Wha’? When?”

“About an hour ago.”  Sherlock replied, still not looking away from the wall.

Resisting the temptation to roll his eyes, John leaned down to toss a pen to his delightful flat mate.  “Didn’t notice I’d gone out then?”

Sherlock didn’t bother to respond.  But caught the pen without looking.

“I went to see about a job at that surgery.”

“How was it?”  Sherlock asked, more out of social courtesy rather than genuine interest.

“It’s great.  She’s great.”

“Who?” Sherlock’s interest piqued for a second, breaking his concentration with his work on the wall.

“The job”

“She?”

“It.”

Sherlock continued to stare at John, almost daring to correct him again, before tilting his head towards the open laptop and sighing.  “There, have a look.”

Walking back into the kitchen, Ellie looked slightly warn out.  The bathroom had been a bigger task that she had initially anticipated.  Apparently Sherlock found the space around the U-bend a good area for conducting some of his less people friendly experiments.  That alone had added an additional half hour to her efforts.  As she emptied her bucket into the sink, she could hear Sherlock and John talking about their latest case.  Something about an intruder that could walk through walls.  To be honest she wasn’t really listening. 

It was only when the word Van Coon was mentioned, that she tuned in.

 “He’s killed another one.”

Walking into the room, drying her hands on a tea towel.  “What’s going on?”

John started at the sound of her voice.  “Oh Ellie.  I didn’t know you were here.”

“Didn’t Sherlock tell you?” She asked, going slightly pink as Sherlock’s gaze moved over her.

“No, he didn’t.” John frowned slightly.  “I thought you said that you’d asked me to pass you a pen about an hour ago.”

“I didn’t specify who I asked, either one of you would have done.  Clearly Eleanor didn’t hear me from the bathroom.”

John didn’t know what to do with that, so he just shook his head.

“Again, what’s going on?  You mentioned Eddie.” She pressed again.

“Yes, whoever killed your former employer has killed again.  This time a journalist.  Did a Journalist by the name of Brian Lucas ever visit Van Coon’s flat whilst you were there?” Sherlock stood to look down on Ellie, making her flush and shrink back slightly.

“No, not to my knowledge.”

“Still, there must be a connection between the two.” Sherlock had started to pace.  “But what, what could possibly connect a banker and a journalist?”

“So how was the interview?” Ellie asked John, who had come to stand beside her as they watched Sherlock stalk about.

“Fine, yeah absolutely fine.”

“So you going to take the job?”

“Can’t just walk into Lucas’s flat it’s a crime scene.” Sherlock mumbled as he passed by them.

“Erm, I need the money.  So, just waiting on a call back from Sarah.” John responded, frowning at Sherlock as he continued to mumble to himself.

“Sarah? Who’s Sarah?” Ellie probed.

“She will hopefully be my boss.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Ye…why would that matter?”  John demanded after catching himself.

“Oh, no reason.” Ellie tried to breeze over the issue, but she had her suspicions.

“What are you getting at?” John asked again, before having his coat thrown at him again by Sherlock.

“Come on, we need to go to Scotland Yard.”


	9. Chapter Nine

John turned to look at Sherlock.  They were on the way to Scotland Yard, having dropped Ellie off at her flat, upon John’s insistence.  The short trip to her flat had been oddly tense.  There was an atmosphere between Sherlock and Ellie that John was fully aware of.

“Okay, what happened?” He tried, tackling the issue head on.

“What happened with what?”

“Between you and Ellie?  There’s tension between you.” John insisted.

“Is there?” Sherlock was playing ignorant, that much was obvious.

John scoffed. “Oh please.  This is you Sherlock, you’re not socially unaware, you see and pick up on everything.  So cut the crap.  What happened between you and Ellie last night to cause tension?”

“Last night? Nothing happened last night.” Sherlock’s head tilted to gaze at John, his eyes squinting in a studying manor.  “What would make you assume something happened last night?”

“Well, erm,” John didn’t know exactly where he was going with this. “You came back to the flat different!” He eventually exclaimed in an accusing tone after too many moments of silence.

It was Sherlock’s turn to scoff. “Please, you made the promise of nicotine.  I would have skipped along the street if asked to.”

John frowned, pondering the honesty of his flat mate’s statement. 

“Well something’s happened.”  John announced after a few moments of silence.  “She was fine with you by the end of the night yesterday, so… what did you do whilst I was out?”

“I had a bath.” Sherlock smirked, enjoying the look of anguish on John’s face.  “Bathing helps me think.”

“You had a bath?” John’s tone suggested an air of disbelief and suspicion.

“Yes, I’m sure Eleanor will prove to be a suitable whiteness to my actions.”

John processed that last statement a few times over in his head, repeating it once out loud under his breath.  The taxi pulled up as it clicked in John’s mind as to what Sherlock had meant.  Frowning at Sherlock’s back as he stepped out of the taxi, John called out, “Now wait just a second!”

But it was too late; Sherlock was already half way into Scotland Yard.

* * *

 

_The Next Day_

Ellie glanced down at her phone.  She had another missed call from John.  He’d been trying to get a hold of her constantly for the past few hours.  She had replied to him a few times through texting, but she had honestly been too busy to get back to him.  One of her clients had family visiting, and he had asked her to help him out a bit, and contractually she was supposed to, as he had given her enough notice.  Rolling her eyes, deciding to bite the metaphorical bullet, she called him back.  She was done for the day anyway, and was on the bus home.

“Hello?”

“John, what’s so important?  You’ve been calling me constantly, never heard of leaving a message?”  Ellie teased light-heartedly.

“Erm, yea well, me and technology don’t manage to get along all that well.  Where the hell have you been?  I stopped by your place last night; we’ve had a crack in the case.”  John relayed.  “Listen I can’t talk long, I’ve got a patent waiting.  If you could possibly stop by the flat and check on Sherlock, I’d be grateful.  Get him to eat something if at all possible.”

Ellie frowned; she really didn’t want to go back there without John being present.  Not after what happened the day before.  “John I’d not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Ellie, please.”  John begged, sighing into the phone. “I know what happened, honestly, he doesn’t mind, or care really.”

“You know what happened?” Ellie questioned in an oddly stoic tone as she pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Yes, Sherlock sort of implied what happened.  I drew my own conclusion based on his innuendo.” John explained, flushing slightly under the collar.

“Innuendo?  Oh God… Well, given that you know what happened, you should be able to figure out why I don’t want to go back and be there with him alone then.”  Ellie answered in a clipped tone, she was beginning to feel like she was being backed into a corner.

“Ellie, surly by now you must have noticed that Sherlock isn’t exactly normal.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

John sighed, again not overly sure where he was going with this. “Ellie, I’m not sure he’s that way inclined.”

“What, you think he’s gay?”

“No, I think he’s asexual.” John explained, keeping his voice low as someone move past his temporary office.  “So yesterday didn’t faze him.  He doesn’t grasp social boundaries like privacy.  If it had been the other way around, he would have carried on and ignored your presence in the room regardless of whatever you told him.”

“Oh.” Ellie’s mind mulled over what John had said for a few seconds.  “Alright fine, I’ll check up on him.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, quick question.  Where you speaking from personal experience just then?”  She asked a smirk firmly in place on her face.

“Goodbye Ellie, I’ll see you later.” And with that John hung up, leaving Ellie to continue smirking.

* * *

 

After stopping off at her flat, Ellie made her way over to Baker Street with Gladstone in tow; he needed to get out, and Mrs Hudson liked having him round for a visit.  It was nice how much the elderly woman had taken a shining to her pet; Ellie couldn’t help but smile at it.  Mrs Hudson had told her that Gladstone reminded her of a dog she used to have when she was a younger woman, and that Gladstone would always be welcome in her home.  She had even bought him some of his own dog biscuits last time her home helper, Angela, had taken her shopping for when he did come over.

Knocking on the door, Ellie called out to the friendly woman.  “Mrs Hudson?  It’s Ellie.”

“Oh Ellie dear!” Mrs Hudson exclaimed as she threw open the door.  “Oh and Gladstone too! Come in, come in.  John said you’d be popping round to check on Sherlock.”

“Did he now?” Ellie asked quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, of course he did.  But I figured you would be popping round anyway.”  Mrs Hudson told her as she gave Gladstone a nice big fuss, one for which he was very glad for.  “He’s taken a shining to you, you know?”

“What?”

“Sherlock.  I think he likes you.”

“What give you that impression?”  Ellie was genuinely confused, and was looking around to try and make an escape without seeming too impolite, she didn’t like where this conversation was going.  It was then she spotted Angela come in from outside.  “Oh, hello Angela.”

“Eleanor?  Hi there.  Mrs Hudson, I’ve finished hanging the washing out for you.  Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“Oh no dear, not at the moment.  Although if you’d pop the kettle on that would be wonderful.”  Mrs Hudson told the young woman, before turning back to Ellie.  “Trust me when I say this Ellie.  I’ve known Sherlock Holmes for a very long time.  In all the time I’ve known him, not once have I seen him in the company of a lovely young lady, such as yourself.  He likes you.”

“But, I’m John’s friend.  I’m sure he’s just putting up with me.” Ellie insisted.

Mrs Hudson just laughed.  “No, if he was just putting up with you, he would have done that for about an hour at most.  If he didn’t like you, he would have chased you off a long time ago.  Trust the elderly dear; we are a wise group of people.  Now, you wait right there, and then you can take him a cup of tea up with you.”

* * *

 

Walking up the stairs carefully, with two cups of tea in hand, Mrs Hudson had insisted, Ellie sighed.  John owed her big time for this, especially if she was going to be dragged into this damn case again.  She had a funny feeling that she would.

Pushing the door open with her foot, she didn’t bother to announce her presence; Sherlock probably knew she was there anyway.  The sight that met her took Ellie’s ability to speak away.  The room was filled with boxes.  You could hardly move there were that many of them.  The little floor space that wasn’t taken up by boxes was taken up by a ridiculous amount of books, and quick glance to her left informed her that the boxes were also filled to the brim with more books.  Now Ellie was a self-confessed bibliophile, the wall of her flat told anyone that, but this was ridiculous.

“Sherlock?”  She called out, not being able to see him anywhere.  “Sherlock, I’ve brought you some tea.”

Sherlock’s head suddenly popped up from behind the tower of boxes, scaring Ellie slightly.  She jumped enough to accidently spill some of the tea down her front.

“Thank you Eleanor, but that won’t be necessary.  Digesting only slows me down when I’m working.” Sherlock didn’t even look up at her from the book clasped in his hands.

“It’s a drink.”

“Liquids count.” He announced frowning and then closing the book with a snap. “‘Early’, no not that one.”

With the book closed, Ellie could see that he was holding not one but two copies of Mikhail Bulgakov’s _The Master and Margarita._   “Not your cup of tea?”

“I’ve told you I’m not drinking that tea, you’re wasting your breath.” Sherlock murmured as he rummaged in one of the boxes.

“I meant the book.” Ellie explained, smiling softly at the man’s stubbornness and putting both mugs down before she spilled anything again.

“Oh, no and it’s for the case.” Sherlock paused and looked up at her, allowing his eyes to rove over her once before returning his attention to the box of books, but not before he noticed the slight blush that formed on her cheeks at his scrutiny. “I generally don’t even read prose.”

“Really, you’re missing out.  Reading prose might get you to focus on something else for a short while.”

Sherlock looked up at her again, noting the way she was standing.  She was slightly self-conscious, given the way she was holding her arm with her other hand rather awkwardly.  She was uncomfortable about being here, he could tell that much, most likely because of what had transpired the day before.  And yet she came back, and didn’t leave immediately after the incident in the bathroom. Sherlock was confused by this.  His study of human behaviour suggested that embarrassment would normally be a reason for people to avoid situations, and yet here Ellie was standing right in front of him, and offering him advice.

“Instead of standing there preaching to me about the wonderment of prose, start going through these boxes.  Look for any text of which there is a duplicate of in another one of the boxes, then tell me the first word on page 15.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow at that.  “You want me to help you?”

“John’s buggered off somewhere, so yes I want you to help.” Sherlock was mumbling again, holding another two books.  “Continued?  That’s not remotely threatening.”

Realising that was all she was going to get from Sherlock, Ellie dove into this new task.  She knew she would get dragged into something, she’d known that just after John hung up earlier.  Fine, she would help.  But she would do it in her own way.  It was clear that Sherlock’s current system wasn’t getting him anywhere.

Ellie cleared a space on the floor before pulling a box closer to her.  She began by placing the books into different piles according to the surname of the author.  It would be easier to find matches this way, the only way it could have possibly been made easier was if the books were sorted according to the Dewey Decimal System.

After a two hours and three rounds of tea brought up from Mrs Hudson’s flat by Angela, who had looked both confused and bemused by the state of 221B, Ellie and Sherlock hadn’t made anymore head way.  But this point Sherlock was now on the far side of the room riffling through the boxes on the couch, and Ellie was by the fire place checking the pile of books he had found earlier that hadn’t been checked by John.

“Argh!”  Sherlock suddenly let out a cry of frustration, making Ellie jump out of her skin for the second time that day.  “This is taking too long!”

“Sherlock calm down.”  Ellie suggested in the most soothing tone she could muster.  “We’ll figure this out.”

“But it’s frivolous; we’d be working on a best guess.”  Sherlock moaned as he stormed over to her, making her back up against the book case.  “We need to think Ellie, come on, a book that everybody would own?”

Ellie was suddenly feeling very uncomfortable again.  Her back was pressed into the shelves of the bookcase, Sherlock was standing right in front of her and the boxes either side of them were preventing her from moving in any direction.  She was feeling very claustrophobic and very trapped.

Sherlock seemed to stare into her eyes for a few seconds, before they widened slightly.  Looking up he snatched a copy of the _Concise Oxford English Dictionary_ , causing his chest to brush up against hers, in turn causing Ellie’s breathing to falter.  She could smell his aftershave he was that close; hell she could feel the heat radiating off of him.  He then grabbed a battered version of the _Holy Bible_ from just left of her head, making him seem to trap her even more.  Sherlock then paused again, stopping for mere seconds as though he were studying Ellie’s reactions to him being this close to her, before grabbing hold of yet another book from the shelf and turned abruptly, leaving Ellie to try and calm herself.

Clearly none of them were any good, as he soon dropped them into a box and ran his hands through his hair, and sighed as he did so.  John making his appearance just in time for Ellie’s heart rate and breathing pattern to calm down and revert to normal.

“I need to get some air!  We’re going out tonight.” Sherlock announced, leaving no room for discussion.

“Actually, I’ve got a date.” John countered, a small but sweet smile making its way on to his features.

“What?”  Both Sherlock and Ellie questioned, but in very different tones.  Sherlock’s was more a question, and Ellie’s was more congratulatory.

Ellie followed up with another question before Sherlock could get a word in.  “Is it Sarah?  Oh John, brilliant!”

“It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun.” John answered Sherlock, knowing that it was slightly pointless.  Before turning to Ellie, “Yes it’s Sarah.”

“That’s what I was suggesting.” Sherlock sounded affronted that John was turning him down. 

“No it wasn’t.” John countered, trying to hide a smirk but not being completely successful.  “At least I hope not.”

“Where are you taking her?”  Ellie asked, stepping out from behind Sherlock, well more like squeezing out from behind him, and walking out to the middle of the room.

“The cinema.”  John announced, knowing that something was going to be said.

“Ugh, dull, boring, predictable.” Sherlock murmured, stepping around Ellie and walking over to John.

“Ignore him John; I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”  Ellie spoke up, coming to a halt beside Sherlock.

“Why don’t you try this?”  Sherlock suggested, handing over a tatty bit of paper.  “In London for one night only.”

Sherlock then smirked at Ellie as though he were daring her to come up with something better.

Glancing down at the paper, John let out a small laugh.  “Thanks but I don’t come to you for dating advice.”

* * *

 

“Right then Sherlock, I’m going to head off now.”  Ellie called out, looking around for her bag and coat, before remembering she had hung them up downstairs.

John had left about ten minutes ago, and he had asked her to stay with Sherlock to stop him from being followed on his date by said flatmate.  Ellie had thought the request was a bit excessive, but had agreed none the less.

“Why?” The tall man asked, popping out of nowhere once again.

Ellie jumped and pressed her hand to her heart, which was beating rapidly in her chest.  “Sherlock, you have to stop doing that.  I have go get going.  I was supposed to take Gladstone out for a walk hours ago, we called in on the way to the park.  I was only supposed to make sure you weren’t doing anything dangerous, not spend the afternoon rifling through an insane book collection.”

“You brought Gladstone?”

“Yes, he’s downstairs with Mrs Hudson.  Getting spoiled beyond belief no doubt.”  Ellie explained as she started to inch towards the door.

“Leave him with her; we’re going to the circus.” Sherlock announced reaching for his coat, an odd grin on his face that suggested he was proud of himself.

“What?”

“We’re going to the circus, what was unclear about that statement?” Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow at what he probably perceived as her stupidity.

“We can’t.” Ellie whined, knowing why he wanted to go there.  “You, no we, can’t gate-crash John’s date.  It’s impolite and rude.”

“No, impolite and rude would be if I went alone.  With you there it’s a double date, or whatever they call it.”  Sherlock insisted, as he started ushering her out of the flat.

“D…double date?”  Ellie stuttered.  “Are you asking me out?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “I suppose I am.  Now coat, put it on.  I’ll have a word with Mrs Hudson.”

Ellie begrudgingly put her coat on after Sherlock had thrust it upon her, before sweeping down the hall to Mrs Hudson’s flat.

“This is such a bad idea.  John’s going to kill me.”  Ellie mumbled to herself. “Or better yet, he’ll kill Sherlock and use his guts to string me up in the nearest tree.”

“Eleanor!  We’re leaving!”

Sighing for the last time, Ellie forced herself out of the door to her potential doom.

* * *

 

Walking up to the box office, John leaned in to speak to the teller.  “Hi, I have two tickets reserved for tonight.”

“And what’s the name?”

“Ah Holmes.”

“Actually I have four in that name.”  The teller informed John as he turned back to face him.

John was confused, but a sense of dread loomed over him.  “No, I don’t think so.  We only booked two.”

“And then I phoned back and got two for Eleanor and myself as well.”  Sherlock informed his flat mate as he appeared to materialise from the shadows.  Offering Sarah his hand, Sherlock introduced himself and Ellie.  “I’m Sherlock, this is Eleanor.”

Sarah looked a little bit lost and not sure how to take what was going on.  “Hi.”

“Hello.” And with that Sherlock was gone.

“Hello, I’m Ellie.  It’s nice to meet you.  John’s told me a bit about you already.” Ellie tried her best to mend the cracks that were clearly starting to form in the night.  Before turning to John.  “Look I know how this looks, but I tried to keep him inside.  I was clearly unsuccessful.  I’m sorry to both of you for this.”

“Eleanor!” Sherlock called from up ahead.  “What are you doing?”

John knew something like this was going to happen.  He should have known that Ellie was no match for Sherlock once his mind had been made up.  Walking ahead of the two women, John caught up to Sherlock on the stairs.

“You couldn’t let me have just one night off?”  John demanded, glowering up at Sherlock.

“They’re a dragon circus.  In London for one day.  It fits!  The Tong sent an assassin to England.”  Sherlock insisted, his tone showing the urgency of how vital this all was.

“Disguised as a tight rope walker?”  John mocked.  “Come on Sherlock, be’ave!”

“We’re looking for a killer who can climb, who can shimmy up a rope.  Where else would you find that level of dexterity?”  Sherlock demanded, knowing that John wouldn’t be able to find an answer.  “Exit visas are scarce in China.  They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country.  Now, all I need to do is have a quick look around the place…”

“Fine, you do that, I’m going to take Sarah for a paint.”

“I need your help!” Sherlock insisted again.

“I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!” John exclaimed, not completely believing he was having this conversation with a fully grown man.

“Like what?”  Sherlock scoffed frowning.

John was taken aback, still not believing he was having this conversation.  “You are kidding?”

“What’s so important?”

“Sherlock, I’m in the middle of a date.  You want me to chase some killer while I’m tryin’ta…”

“What?”  Sherlock asked again, clearly not understanding what John was talking about.

“While I’m trying to get off with Sarah!”

And naturally at that moment, Sarah appeared at John’s side, Ellie a few steps below her.

“Hey, ready?”  John asked trying to play it off a calmly a possible.


	10. Chapter Ten

Even now, walking through the halls of Scotland Yard, for the second time this week no less, Ellie couldn’t believe the happenings of the last forty five minuets.  What she had seen of the circus had been impressive; the smugglers were very talented performers.  That much had to be admitted.  But just as she had begun to enjoy herself, Sherlock had disappeared, and suddenly her attention was focused on trying to find just where he had gone without drawing attention to herself.

She had kept one eye on the show and John and Sarah whilst looking for Sherlock, Ellie couldn’t help but think how sweet they looked together.  Especially when Sarah had cuddled into John’s arm.  Ellie was genuinely happy for John, he deserved to be happy and it seemed Sarah was doing that.  That moment, however, had been interrupted when Sherlock had come flying out from behind a curtain, landing in his back, and as a result had been clearly winded. 

From that point it had all been somewhat of a blur.  Before she registered what was going on completely, she was helping Sarah preventing one of the smugglers from pulverising Sherlock into a pulp, and then Sherlock had been dragging her away without a pause for thought.  She could still feel the ghost of his massive hand around hers.

Ellie wasn’t surprised to have found of Detective Inspector Dimmock waiting for them when they had arrived at the Yard, he however was surprised to see her there.  His attention was soon diverted by Sherlock.  And now here she was, following Sherlock and John down a corridor, focusing more on keeping up than what was been said.  It was only once they arrived in an office area that she was allowed to slow her pace, and therefore tune in to the conversation at hand.

“I sent a couple of cars.” Dimmock’s voice was laden with tension that Ellie had started to notice as a commonality between a few people who dealt with Sherlock.  “The old hall is totally deserted.”

“Look, I saw the mark at the circus.” Sherlock was explaining, sounding rather calm for having to deal with a socially enforced authority figure.  “That tattoo we saw on the bodies, the mark of the Tong.”

“Lucas and Van Coon were part of a smuggling operation. Now one of them stole something when they were in China, something valuable.” John contributed, sounding very much like the voice of reason.

“These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back.” Sherlock stated again.

Ellie couldn’t help but think how impressive it was that Sherlock and John were finishing off each other’s sentences.  It was more than clear to her now that on some level, they were connected.  Sherlock may have been a genius, but John made him seem more normal.  John was adding the voice of humanity and of a different type of logic to the situation, making it all more plausible.

At least that’s how Ellie saw it; clearly Dimmock couldn’t see it in the slightest as he snapped his next question.  “Stole what?”

“We don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Dimmock was getting awkward now.  Ellie couldn’t help but wonder where the rather nice man she had met a few days ago had gone, but she could see the stress building up in his shoulders as he took a seat.  “Mister Holmes, I have done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think that your advice is worth something.  I gave the order for a raid.  Please tell me I’ll have something to show for it, other than a massive bill for overtime?”

* * *

 

The ride back across London was a quiet one for Ellie.  John and Sarah were chatting quietly on the other side of the taxi, and Sherlock remained very quiet.  It was clear that he was thinking about what his next move was going to be.  And after all the excitement of the evening, Ellie was quite looking forward to getting back to her own home and having a shower to relax the pounding muscles in her shoulders.  As the taxi pulled up outside of 221B Baker street, Ellie was the first to get out followed by Sherlock, who started making his own way up to the door.

“Hey John, I’m going to be heading off home now.  After I get Gladstone from Mrs Hudson that is, can’t leave him with her for too long.”  Ellie informed him after he fell into step next to her, with Sarah on his other side.

“Oh?  Fair enough, it’s getting on a bit isn’t it?”  John asked, sending a wary glance towards Sarah, clearly hoping that the evening wasn’t over in her case.

“Not really.” Ellie insisted, catching the glance.  “I have to work tomorrow, and I’d rather avoid the rush on the underground.  Plus I need to get Gladstone to bed, otherwise he’ll be up with the Larks, you know what he’s like.”

“Sure, I’ll go with you and say goodnight.” John shrugged, before adding hastily to Sarah, “If you don’t mind that is.”

“Oh of course not.” Sarah insisted.  “And may I just ask were the name Gladstone came from Ellie?  It’s not one of the more common ones I’ve come across.”

Ellie smiled fondly, she knew the name was unique.  “Actually I his name wasn’t my choice, I was John’s.  But we both though it suited him perfectly.”

Sarah looked slightly taken aback by that little nugget of information, as Ellie strode down the hall to Mrs Hudson’s door.  Turning to John, she fixed him with a slightly curious look.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realise that you two had such a history.”

 “Yeah, Ellie and I go way back.” John smiled, nodding as Ellie re-emerged with Gladstone at her heels.

For the second time in a few moments Sarah was taken aback again.  “Oh, so Gladstone is a dog?”  She asked sounding relieved.

“Of course he’s a dog.” John answered looking a bit confused, and then it dawned on him.  “You… you though Ellie and I…?  Oh no.  Absolutely not, never.”

“Thanks John, love you too.  Well on that note, I’ll be going home.  Goodnight guys, and it was lovely meeting you Sarah.”

* * *

 

*At an undisclosed location, somewhere in Britain*

Mycroft was back in his mother’s office, and was once again on what he considered to be the wrong side of the desk.  Although, at least this time he wasn’t essentially asking for a favour, he was only here to report the most recent findings where Sherlock was concerned.  He waited patiently as his mother finished reading the written reports.  It was clear when she had by the dejected look she gave him from over the top of the documents.

“This is it?”  She asked in a disbelieving tone.  “He’s managed to get caught up in another mess that Scotland Yard should be dealing with?”

“That appears to be the case, yes.”

“Well what about my agent?  What has she disclosed to you?  She’s under your jurisdiction for the time being Mycroft; I’m well and truly out of the proverbial loop.”  Mrs Holmes demanded.

“She has been unable to provide much information on Sherlock per say, apparently he’s rather unsociable.  But we knew that already.”  His mother couldn’t be sure, but that last comment from Mycroft seemed to be aimed personally at her.  “Regardless,” Mycroft continued, “It seems fitting to keep her in relatively close quarters to him, walls can be very thin.  You never know what you might overhear, especially when the right people and equipment are involved.”

“True.”

Mycroft flashed his mocking smile.  “On another note, I overheard that both of the smugglers you had been keeping an eye on have been found dead.”

“Yes, but it’s hardly on another note.  One of them, Van Coon, was found by Sherlock, Mycroft!” Mrs Holmes was exasperated to say the least.  If there was one thing she didn’t need it was her youngest getting involved with a smuggling ring.  “I need him as far away from this as possible, my people will deal with it.”

“You know as well as I do that when Sherlock finds himself a nice little puzzle, he will not relent until he has solved it.  So that is likely to be the outcome in this instance Mother, I’m sorry but there is little I can do.”

“I know.” She sighed, allowing the papers to fall to her desk with a soft thump.  “In an idealistic world, your brother would be working in my department.  He possesses superior capabilities on his own than half of my agents collectively.”

“Yes, but that was hardly going to be the case.”  Mycroft responded, sounding slightly mournful himself.  “That much was clear once he reached puberty and started to expand on his own.”

“Yes, he is most defiantly his father’s son.  No sense of duty whatsoever.” Mrs Holmes quipped, frowning as some choice memories of her husband’s past endeavours sprung to mind.

“Now Mummy, that’s not completely fair and you know it.”  Mycroft light heartedly scolded.  “Sherlock’s much worse than father.”

“Still, keep an eye on him Mycroft.”  Mrs Holmes was being serious again.  “I cannot have him interfering again, he’s risked his life one to many times in the past and now he has more motivation to be noble.  The Holmes family have a habit of being overly gallant, and it costs us our lives.  I’d rather not have to burry my youngest son.”

“Shockingly enough, that’s not an outcome I’d favour either.”  Mycroft’s tone was steady, but the hint of this being a repeated conversation was laced thinly with his voice.  “I do remember what happened to Uncle Bartholomew.”

“So ensure it’s not an eventuality then.”

“Very well.”  Mycroft stood, brushed the wrinkles out of his suit trousers and straightened his jacket.  “Same time next week then?”

“Naturally, unless there becomes a reason to see you sooner.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

It had been an interesting few days for Ellie since her “date” with Sherlock.  She had managed to get on with her work without any problems, helping her clients where she could, and had even had a few interviews with potential clients.  One of which had fallen through when the guy showed an interest in hiring her as a nanny for his children.  Sure Ellie loved kids, but there wasn’t a chance in a month of Sundays of her looking after any child that wasn’t related to her in some way.  She didn’t care how much money was being offered for the job either.  The other one ended up being successful, and Ellie was looking forward to actually working for this new guy, he seemed interesting which was always a bonus in her line of work.

And if her work wasn’t enough to keep her busy, her parents had summoned her home claiming that her Gran needed to see her about something.  Ellie knew they were really checking up on her, making sure that the big city wasn’t corrupting her in any way.  So that had taken up some more of her time.  Though she knew what had happened after she had left.  If John hadn’t texted her about it, she would have heard about it in the news eventually, despite Scotland Yard’s attempt to keep it fairly hush hush, small threads news managed to get out there.

Yet, it was on the morning of April 1st that things once again took an interesting turn.  Ellie was on her way home from her parent’s house on the outskirts of London, where she had spent the last two nights when she received the text message from her neighbour Alice:

_‘Hey, just so you know Gladstone’s doing fine, but I think he wants his Mummy back.  And don’t you know someone who lives on Baker Street?’_

It wasn’t uncommon for Alice to text Ellie from time to time, normally asking her to make sure that Alice had locked her front door, the poor woman was a bit of a scatter brain, but she was willing to look after Gladstone for a few nights here and there when Ellie needed her to.  But the unexpected question was odd.

‘Yes I do… Why?’

It took a few moments for the response to come through.  Ellie guessed that Alice had already had a message waiting to send once she had replied in the first instance.

_‘I thought you did.  There’s been an explosion there, opposite that sweet little café, the one with the good sandwiches’_

When she read that line, Ellie felt her heart sink.  She knew exactly where Alice was talking about, there was only one ‘sweet little café’ on Baker Street that Alice frequented, and it was ‘Speedy’s’, the one that Sherlock and John lived above.

Glancing around the platform on the Underground, Ellie searched for the exit which was proving difficult with the number of commuters milling around her.  She could get enough signal for texts down here, but there was no way in hell that she’d be able to make a call.  Pushing her way through the crowd, Ellie fought her way through and before she truly realised what she was doing, she was bounding up the right side of the escalators and heading for the surface, keeping a tight hold of her phone.

Dialling her phone, Ellie quickly had it pressed to her ear, praying that she would be able to get through.  The three tone beeps sounded in her hear within seconds, the line was engaged.  Running out towards the road, and the taxi rank nearby, Ellie’s heart was in her throat.

* * *

 

The taxi hadn’t managed to get anywhere close to Baker Street.  The roads had been cordoned off by the police, and fire engines were constantly milling backwards and forwards from the scene of the accident.  Ellie had paid her fair, and had run down the last few streets only to be stopped by a police officer who was holding back the crowd.

“Sorry Miss can’t let you through.”

“Please Constable.  Some close friends of mine live just there, I can’t get through on the phone.  Just let me see if they’re okay.”  She begged, contemplating bringing up a tear if need be.

“Sorry Miss, I can’t.  Have to follow orders.”

Ellie let out a minuscule sigh, and turned taking a moment to compose herself.  In turning she saw the extent of the damage done to the building opposite 221b.  Two houses were missing their front wall over two floors.  Ellie hoped that no one had been in at the time of the explosion, although she knew that people were likely to have been.  Judging by the size of it, the noise must have woken up half of the local area.

“Ellie?  What are you doing here?” A familiar voice asked as a hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“John?  Oh thank God!  You’re okay.  I got a text telling me about this, and I was so worried.  What about Sherlock, and Mrs Hudson?  Are they okay as well?”  Ellie rattled out as she flung herself at her friend.  “I tried calling you but the line was engaged, I was so worried.”

“Hey, calm down.  I spent the night at Sarah’s, saw the news this morning and got here as soon as I could.”  John told her as he began pulling her towards the flat, shrugging off the Police Officer that had stopped Ellie just moments ago.

As soon as the door was open, John headed for the stairs before turning to Ellie.  “You go and check on Mrs Hudson, I’ll see to Sherlock.”

“That’s fine, go on then.”

Passing through the small hallway, Ellie approached Mrs Hudson’s door, she could feel and hear the glass crunching beneath her feet as she walked, it was a little unsettling.  She only had to knock the one time before the door was being pulled open, and Mrs Hudson’s smiling face appeared.

“Oh Ellie, how nice it is to see you!  How’s your family?  I’m sure they could see that we’ve been looking after you here in London.”  Mrs Hudson babbled on as she pulled Ellie through the door.  “You know I’ve just put on a kettle to boil, please have some.”

“Mrs Hudson, I came to see if you were alright.” Ellie pressed, hoping to get a straight answer out of the older woman for once.

“Me?  Oh, I’m fine dear.  Bit annoyed about my windows mind, but nothing the insurance won’t cover.”  Mrs Hudson insisted.

“So you weren’t hurt then?  I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“No, not at all.  I was on the stairs at the time, though the bang did scare me half to death, but then again, with having Sherlock as a tenant loud noises are a given.  I was a bit worried about him mind.”  Mrs Hudson was still talking despite the fact she was hard at work making tea, not that it stopped her for a second.  “Sent right off his feet he was, back covered in glass.  It’s a wonder he didn’t cut himself walking around barefoot like that, I’ve been telling him that he should wear slippers, but he doesn’t listen does he?”

“You know, he probably did cut himself and didn’t feel it.” Ellie interjected.

“Well he better not have gotten blood everywhere then!” Mrs Hudson sounded stern, but the caring tone was very much there in her voice.  “Honestly, our Sherlock’s is the brightest bulb on any chandelier in most instances, but when it comes to the little things with common sense, he’s a little lacking.”

“Yes, well there’s only so much he’s willing to work with.” Ellie murmured, knowing that Sherlock really didn’t care for things that seemed simple to others.

“Say, why don’t you take your tea upstairs and take this bag up with you.  I got it for the boys last night but left it down here by mistake.”  Mrs Hudson suggested as she practically forced the mug and the carrier bag into Ellie’s hands.  “I think Sherlock’s brother came for a visit today, have you met Mycroft yet?  Go on off you go.”

And with that Ellie was headed once again up the stairs by the insistent Mrs Hudson.  Ellie arrived at the top of the stairs and she could hear voices from inside the room, one was undoubtedly Sherlock's, and they appeared to be talking about sofas and lilos. As she approached the door, and a floor board creaked, the attention in the room was refocused on her.

"Ellie, is Mrs Hudson alright?" John asked from his position on the couch, not looking to make any effort to get up.

"She's fine." Ellie told him as her eyes scanned the damage in the room, her face screwing up in a small grimace as she did, it was a mess. Her eyes flitted over Sherlock, who seemed to be watching her intently, and then moved over to the man sitting opposite him, the man she took to be Mycroft. "I don't believe we've met, I'm Eleanor Harrington."

"Yes, I know who you are." Mycroft sounded bored at her very presence, and she had believed Sherlock to be hard work, she appeared to have been wrong.

"Don't mind me then, I'll just put these things away and then I'll get out of your way." Ellie then moved into the kitchen, not waiting for a return comment from the three men in the room.

Conversation between them resumed once she was five paces away, she chose to ignore them, she wasn't interested in what they were discussing. Though she did pick up things about a man being dead, and a few other key words, but nothing overly interesting. She couldn't help but remark at how often conversations in this flat turned to morbid topics.

"Goodbye Miss Harrington," Mycroft called out, gaining her attention. "I expect we shall be meeting again at some point."

And with that he was gone, Sherlock playing an irritating screech as he did. There was clearly some bad blood between the two brothers. Rolling her eyes at the childish behaviour on display, Ellie moved over to the fridge to put away the various preserves that had been left in a mess on the table, pulling open the door she didn't expect to come face to face with a dismembered head. Ellie let out a scream of shock, and backed away, somehow managing to keep hold of the jars in her arms.

"Ellie, what's wrong?" John called out to her as he appeared in the door way.

"There's a head in the fridge!"

"Oh, yeah. I know there is." John sounded sheepish because of this.

"Why the hell is there a head in the fridge?!" Ellie exclaimed her eyes wide and her breaths deep and quick.

"It's mine, I'll be done with it soon enough. There's no need to worry." Sherlock informed her from over John's shoulder.

He was watching her again, intently. His focus however was broken when his phone started to ring.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Sherlock and John had been gone about 40 minutes before Ellie could face the mere idea of going back into the kitchen; they’d gone off on some police call and left a mess again.  It was still strange to think that Scotland Yard, one of the world’s most renowned police institutions called on Sherlock, and by association John, for help with their cases.  Still Ellie had managed to pop home, cleared things with Alice and Gladstone, and had made her way back to Baker Street with the intention of sorting the flat out for the boys again.  Having the windows blown in had done nothing for the state of it, and there’d probably still be glass about.  It didn’t take all that long to run the vacuum about, and straighten up the living room.

Glancing around the kitchen, but steering well clear of the fridge, Ellie couldn’t believe that it had gotten like this so quickly.  She’d only been out of the city a few days, and whilst it hadn’t been exactly the definition of cleanliness it wasn’t that bad.  For someone who didn’t eat all that much, Sherlock certainly managed to keep a messy kitchen.  Still, the fine layer of dust that had settled on every available surface didn’t help anything, but there was no such thing as a clean explosion. She started clearing away his used beakers and flasks, stacking them beside the sink to be washed before she put them away.  Sighing to herself, she noticed that Sherlock’s notes were strewn across the table underneath everything.  Next time she was in Staples, Ellie was determined to get him a hole punch and an arch leaver file, or something to that effect at least.

Ellie had just put the chemistry set into soak when she heard the front door slam, and Gladstone’s subsequent bark, she was half way down the stairs when she heard Sherlock call out for Mrs Hudson.

“John?” Ellie asked, still from her position on the stairs, her hands still wet and clutching a tea towel.  “What’s going on?”

John looked up and seemed a little surprised to find her still here.  “Erm, I don’t know really.  Sherlock’s figured something out.”

Ellie’s eyes passed over to the other man, one she’d yet to meet, but she was assuming he was with the Yard.  Possibly the illustrious Inspector Lestrade she’d heard so much about.  Walking down the rest of the stairs, she smiled softly at him, and offered her hand.  “Hi I’m Eleanor Harrington, an old friend of John’s.  I’m just sorting out the flat for these two, what with the windows getting blown in and all.”

“Inspector Gregory Lestrade.” He confirmed her suspicions whilst shaking her hand.  He smiled down at her, observing her as he did.  “That’s a nice gesture; don’t know many friends that would do that.”

“I’ve cleaned the flat before, so it’s not really a big deal.  Plus I’ve figured out how Sherlock likes his things to be kept, so it’s easier if I do it.” Ellie explained in a way.

“Can’t say Sherlock’s mentioned you, not that he would.” Lestrade joked, flashing her a grin.

Ellie’s eyes flicked over to Sherlock for a moment, who despite seeming to be interested in the door to the basement flat, was very intently listening to their conversation.  And if Ellie didn’t know any better, she could have sworn that he was a little bit irritated.

“Lestrade, how’s the wife?” Sherlock snapped, as he turned away from the door.  His eyes had narrowed slightly.

“She’s fine.” The Inspector answered a confused look on his face.

“Good to know, now if you don’t mind we have more pressing matters at hand.”  Sherlock announced as Mrs Hudson re-appeared carrying a set of keys.

“You had a look didn’t you Sherlock?” Mrs Hudson asked, handing the keys over to him. “When you first came to see about your flat.”

“The doors been opened.” Sherlock informed the small group, taking the padlock off of the latch.  “Recently”

Mrs Hudson frowned, “No.  Can’t be, that the only key.”  She protested, turning to John and the Inspector as Sherlock continued to unlock the door.  “I can’t get anyone interested in this flat.  It’s the damp I expect, that’s the curse of basements.  I had a place once when I was first married black mould all up the wall…”

Ellie was torn between following the men, or staying with Mrs Hudson.  “You go down with them pet, keep an eye on the lot of them.”  Mrs Hudson instructed her, and so Ellie followed.

In the middle of the room lay a pair of shoes, Ellie stayed by the door just watching what was going on.  She didn’t want to get in the way, but felt a need to stay close enough to have an understanding of what was happening.  John made some comment about there being a bomber, which caught her attention.  She was about to ask what he was talking about when a phone started ringing.

Sherlock answered on the third ring, the tension on the room was almost unbearable, but everyone remained silent as Sherlock took part in the bizarre conversation.  Ellie’s heart went out to the poor woman on the other end of the phone, she was clearly terrified.  Whatever was going on, Sherlock was a huge part of it, willingly or not.

“What’s going on?” She asked when Sherlock’s attention was back on the shoes.

“Ellie, don’t worry yourself.” John spoke softly, pulling her to the side away from Sherlock and Lestrade.

“John, don’t pander to me.  I’m not a child and have come up against less than pleasant characters in the past.  What’s going on?” She demanded, using the voice she had employed whilst being a Barrister and on the side of the prosecution.

John sighed heavily, clearly not wanting her to get any more involved than she already was, but he knew better than to argue. “Sherlock’s involved in something, and I’m not sure what it is.  It wasn’t a gas leak this morning, it was a bomb, and somehow the bomber had led us here and to this.”

“John, we need to go to Bart’s.  I need a lab.” Sherlock announced, holding up the shoes in a plastic bag he’d acquired from somewhere.  “Ellie you too, you understand the deprived criminal mind, you may be of some assistance.”

“Sherlock I...”

“You’re coming, go get your coat.” He demanded, leaving her no room to argue as he herded her out of the door and up the stairs.

“She understands the deprived criminal mind?” Lestrade asked John, quirking an eyebrow.  “How much time has she spent with him?  The way he’s being, you’d think they were shagging, and I thought she was your old friend.”

“God I hope not that’s the last thing I want to deal with.” John sighed making his way to follow Sherlock and Ellie.  “I’ve known her for years; she used to be a barrister so there’s her insight into the criminal mind.”

“Oh it’s just the way he phrased it, it seemed like…”

“I know, don’t remind me.”

* * *

 

This was the first time Ellie had been in Bart’s.  She’d gone past it countless times, but had never been inside.  She’d never had reason to really, not being dead and all.  The typical sterile smell clung to the walls as it seems to in all hospitals, neither pleasant nor horrid, just bland and clinical.  She glanced around the lab just taking it all in, Sherlock was engrossed in his tests with the shoes and ignoring her and John.  John had said in the car they were in for the long hall, thankfully she didn’t have anywhere to be today.

“So this is what it’s like then?”  She asked John in a whispered tone.  They were seated at the opposite side to the room from Sherlock so they didn’t disturb them.

“Hm?”

Ellie just looked at him, clearly he had been day dreaming.  “This is what your adventures are like?  Just you sitting and watching him do this?”

John sighed deeply.  “No, not really.  Occasionally yeah it is, but this is just the beginning of it all. Would it be out of line to ask you to go for a coffee run?”

“Well you could go for a start.”  Ellie retorted in a non-vicious way, a small smile on her face.  “If we’re going to be here for a while I’ll go.  I’m bored anyway.  I’ll be back in a bit.”

With her gone, Ellie knew John wanted to talk to Sherlock.  Try and get a scope on things.  She got the sense, he didn’t want her here, and that he wanted to protect her from Sherlock’s work.  So this really wasn’t ideal at all.  Her being at the flat was different, the flat was a sort of neutral zone, Switzerland if you will.  So that didn’t really seem to bother John at all, plus if Mrs Hudson was safe there, why wouldn’t she?  It was nice in a way.  Having John care so much about her, but she was more resilient than he was clearly giving her credit for.

It didn’t take long for her to get the coffee from the café in the lobby, so she was soon heading back.  Hopefully she had given John enough time to quiz Sherlock a little bit.  As she reached for the door, balancing three cups, getting Sherlock one was redundant, but she felt rude if she didn’t, it opened and a man walked out.  He was almost defiantly not one of the lab staff given the way he was dressed, at a glance he seemed a bit camp.

“Oh, hold the door?”  She smiled as he did.  “Thanks.” She called over her shoulder as she entered the room.

“ – gay?  We’re together.”

“And domestic bliss must suit you Molly.  You’ve put on three pounds since I last saw you.”

Ellie looked on stunned at the clear blossoming argument she’s just walked in on.  The girl standing near Sherlock and John was new to Ellie, but then again, so much of this was.  She was clearly lab staff, judging by the coat.

“Two and a half.”  The apparent ‘Molly’ timidly answered in a half-hearted way.

“Hm.  Three.”  Sherlock was being an arse and again, and John was trying to stop it.

“He’s not gay!” ‘Molly’ ended up snapping.  “Why do you have to spoil…? He’s not!”

Ellie’s heart broke for her a little bit.  She sounded like she could burst into tears at any moment.  Unfortunately Sherlock wasn’t finished.

“With that level of personal grooming?”

 _‘Oh God, he’s even laughing at this’_ Ellie mournfully thought. ‘ _I bet they aren’t even aware I’m here.’_

“Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?  I put product in my hair.” John argued, finally coming to the lab tech’s aid.

“You wash your hair, there’s a difference.” Sherlock scoffed before going into one of his tirades. “No, no! Tinted eyebrows, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines.  Those tired, clubber’s eyes. Then there’s his underwear.”

‘Molly’ was frowning at this, “His underwear?”

“Visible above the waistline.  Very visible.  Very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here.  And I’d say you’d better break it off now and save yourself the pain.”

Ellie couldn’t see the young woman’s face, until she turned around and headed straight for the door. She mumbled an ‘excuse me’ as she almost barged past Ellie, who thankfully didn’t manage to spill the coffee she was still holding.

“Charming.  Well done!” Came John’s snide remark.

She looked over at Sherlock, who now seemed to register she was in the room, his face was one of surprise.  Ellie just shook her head as she finally managed to set the cups down, she guessed the look of surprise came from ‘Molly’s’ response at being told about who she was seeing.

“You enjoyed that didn’t you?”  She asked in a very clear disapproving tone.

“What?  I was just saving her time.  Isn’t that kinder?” He sounded a little bit like a small child right about now, one who didn’t fully understand what had just happened.

Ellie sighed.  “No, _that_ wasn’t kind at all.  Her name is Molly?”

“Yes.”

“Well I’m going to go and see if she’s ok.  If she’s who I think she is I should probably introduce myself anyway.  I’ll pop back in when I’ve made sure she isn’t too upset.” She announced as she made her way back over to the door.  “John your coffee is there, and I’m taking yours for Molly, Sherlock.  If you need me I’ve got my phone.”

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for Ellie to track down Molly.  When she did, the poor girl was just sitting at a computer blank eyed, clicking through reports but obviously not reading them at all.

“Hi.” Ellie uttered from the doorway, she didn’t want Molly to jump.  It didn’t work.

“Oh, sorry.  Do you need something….?”

“Ellie.”  She introduced herself, walking over, setting the coffee down and offering her hand.  “I saw what happened, well kind off.  I’m sorry he’s a colossal pillock.”

“Molly” She took the offered hand and gave a soft smile at hearing someone call Sherlock Holmes a pillock.

“I brought you a coffee, I have sugar if you need any.” Ellie offered, but Molly simply took the coffee and had a sip.  “I’m an old friend of John’s, just so you know I’m not some randomer wandering around the place.”

Molly gave a soft smirk at the attempt at humour.

“I wanted to make sure you were ok, somehow I’m now the person who has become responsible for clearing up all of Sherlock’s messes that he makes.  It was awful what he did there.  He was really trying to prove a point as always, but in a way, if what he says is true he’s done you a huge favour as well.”

“I suppose he has yeah.” Molly sighed.  “It was just nice to feel special, and Jim did that.”

Ellie took a seat and got to chatting to the lab technician.  It didn’t take long for her to get Molly smiling again.  She took the liberty of telling the younger woman all about some of her past horrific boyfriends, or at least she started too.  John interrupted calling her attention back to why they were here in the first place.  They now had a name; Carl Powers.


End file.
